


Lost, Damned, and Chosen

by Piratess_of_Tortuga



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: BDSM, Dark Brotherhood Questline (mostly), F/M, NSFW, Smut, Vampirism, past loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2019-08-09 02:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 24,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piratess_of_Tortuga/pseuds/Piratess_of_Tortuga
Summary: A weary, lone figure wanders in the night. A necromancer tries to attack her. Without a flinch, she draws a dagger, and her attacker is no more. This is what she used to do, kill people for a living, but now it doesn’t make her feel a thing. She lost everything so long ago. Perhaps she should just let her brothers and sisters kill her, but that would mean the end of the Dark Brotherhood. After all she has been through, just like that… Could she betray him?





	1. The Black Door

“What is the music of life?” a familiar, hoarse voice asked.

_It has been a long time since he told me, but most probably…_

“Silence, my brother”, the answer was spoken in silvery, yet strangely dead tone.

“Welcome home.”

 

The movement of the heavy door was followed by a low rasping sound. A slender figure walked past it and disappeared into the cave with the hem of black robes swinging back and forth above the floor. It was dangerously silent inside. The Family members were undoubtedly aware of the invader in their home, and someone would try to…

“Who are you?” the threat lying beneath the woman’s question was concealed by a calm demeanour.

_Ah. That was quick. Good._

A pair of red, glowing eyes stared at the Nord from beneath a faded black hood.

“A sister”, the stranger replied and drew something forth from the left sleeve of her robes.

The Nord glanced down, ready for a possible attack. Her expression didn’t change, but her surprise was perceptible for delicate senses.

“These are rare nowadays”, she stated without detaching her gaze from the Blade of Woe presented to her. “How did you acquire one?”

“Long ago. It was a gift from the Speaker who recruited me.”

The Nord’s gaze was filled with doubt.

“Just how long ago was this, exactly?”

The stranger lifted her upper lip as if in a nasty grin, and the light of the torches goldened the bared sharp fangs.   

“Too long ago to remember.”

 

It was a lie. She did remember.

Memory is a funny thing. It plays tricks on a person when one hopes it the least. Such was the case when it came to the vampiric Dunmer who had arrived at the Falkreath Sanctuary. Who was she? Well, her name didn’t matter. It was only a pain in her cursed soul. As she followed Astrid deeper into the Sanctuary, vivid images from her past began to haunt before her eyes.

A hooded figure appears, and her heart pounds, startled. He calls her a murderer, offers her a chance to become part of the Family, and she agrees.

_My sweet nightshade. That’s what he used to call me._

                      One might think that vampires shouldn’t be able to feel hurt anymore, and yet the Dunmer did. Her heart felt crushed even after the two hundred years that had passed. She had spent most of them in slumber, awakened only occasionally to feed by her instincts. There hadn’t been any thoughts or memories back then **-** just hazy, blood red existence. The last time she had awoken, however, she hadn’t been able to sleep. She had heard the Mother’s voice inside her head. That voice had stubbornly kept her awake until she had agreed to travel to this very Sanctuary. The Dark Brotherhood was on the brink of destruction. That was why, after two hundred years of blissful silence, the Mother had spoken to her. She had told her that it was time, that she was ready. The Dunmer herself still wasn’t sure whether it was true, but an old oath compelled her to walk ahead.

She had made a promise on the day she had officially joined the Family.

She had made that promise to him.

It had to be done.

***

 

Uncertainty. Disbelief **.** Urge to kill.

Those were the feelings that wafted densely in the Sanctuary’s main hall. All Family members had gathered there, surprised by the fact that the invader was still alive.

“Why isn’t she dead already?” a male Nord growled.

_That scent… A werewolf. How quaint._

“She didn’t wander here by accident, Arnbjorn”, Astrid told him, but her answer was not to his satisfaction.

“She’s still an intruder. Let’s just rip her to pieces and be done with it.”

“I advise you not to try that”, the Dunmer said calmly, **“** and luckily for you, there are still some who choose to honour the Tenets.”

“Bah!”

“I suggest you listen to her, Arnbjorn”, a little girl noted. “Besides, even if I don’t care about the Tenets anymore, I think it’s admirable that someone chooses to abide by them **.”**

“I thank you, elder”, long strands of charcoal hair dropped in front of the Dunmer’s face when she bowed to the other vampire **.**

“’Elder’?” an old mage standing next to the girl repeated. “Another vampire? Are we turning into a travelling freak show? Oh well… As long as there are contracts for everyone **,** I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

“Very eloquent, Festus”, a Redguard noted.

“I wouldn’t be the cranky old man otherwise, would I?”

“Shut up, all of you, and listen to me!” the leader of the Sanctuary raised her voice. “She has asked to join us, and after our discussion, I’m willing to give her a chance to prove herself. Nazir, give her an assignment. Let’s see how she does.”

“Hmph, alright”, the Redguard agreed.

“Good”, Astrid turned to speak to the Dunmer. “Nazir will give you the details. Do well, and you’ll officially become part of _our_ Family.”

 

_We must now take our leave of each other, you and I, for there is much work to be done. I’ll be following… your progress. Welcome to the Family._

 

The Dunmer banished the haunting memories from her mind while the crowd around her dispersed. The situation felt familiar. _He_ had once sent her to kill old Rufio. After that, she had received contracts from Vicente, Ocheeva, and then from him again. But then – then… The Dunmer nearly shivered from the horrific image emerging inside her head while the Redguard focused his piercing stare on her.

“So, you’re a vampire, huh?” he chatted as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“What other evidence do you need to believe me?” the Dunmer raised her eyebrows and tilted her head slightly to the left. “Fangs?”

“Not the joking type I see. Fair enough. Just tell me your name, so I know who I’m sending on an errand.”

“Names are unimportant. Just give me a job. I’m famished.”

“Up for a meal, eh? Well, you’ll find one in Riften. Your target is an old hag, but hopefully, there is some blood left in her veins. Shortly put, go to the local orphanage and kill its headmistress, Grelod the Kind. We’ll take care of informing our client. Understood?”

“Consider this ‘Grelod’ as good as dead.”

“Good. Off you go.”

The Dunmer was about to take her leave, but she chose to stop and glance over her shoulder once more.

“You may call me Shade if you must. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have prey to catch.”

 

 _How sweet your scent is_ , a memory accompanied the assassin out of the Sanctuary _. Like that of a nightshade. Beautiful, yet poisonous. My nightshade._

 _Your nightshade_ , she thought before disappearing into the night. _Yours forever.  
_


	2. The origin of a nightmare

The Honorhall Orphanage was in need of a new headmistress. There was no doubt that whoever would find the body of poor Grelod wouldn’t shed a single tear for her. The assassin had stalked her target like the predator she was. She had observed how the old woman had arranged an inspection in the middle of the night. She had birched the bottoms of the children’s’ dirty, bare feet after which they had reluctantly thanked her for it. When the orphanage’s despotic leader had finally returned to her room, content with her own mercilessness, she had failed to notice the danger lurking in one of the shady corners **.** She had drifted blissfully off to sleep, never to wake up again. The killer had left the building with her inner beast satisfied, her bloodlust sated. Shade had decided to spend the brightest part of the day in an empty house near the harbour and rest. She had journeyed straight from the Sanctuary to Riften through the remaining night-time and day. Travelling in daylight had been exhausting for her despite her robes and all the possible shade she had been able to find. The meal had made her drowsy anyway, and a few hours of rest wouldn’t do any harm, would they?

 

***

 

_No voices. Good._

The farmhouse is quiet. Perhaps too quiet one would say, but there are few things more silent than a hiding assassin. The dark, red-eyed horse neighs shortly when the rider dismounts **.** She makes no noise as she walks towards the house’s door. She has the proof she needs. It proves his innocence, and the hunt will be called off. They can be together again. With every light step the comer takes towards the house’s door fills her mind with ease. She has missed him, and now she gets to see him again. She’ll press herself against him when he holds her, so tightly… When the door screeches open she calls his name with a loving tone, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, there’s blood on the floor.

 _No_.

Four figures dressed in black robes are waiting for her.

 _No_.

And amidst it all hangs…

**_No_** **.**

 

The assassin wakes up screaming. The sound draws the attention of two city guards, but its source is already gone by the time they enter the house. She has run away to escape the crippling nightmare. She doesn’t want to see it.

 _Not again. Ever,_ she thinks as she flees the city, and a faint, tremulous whisper escapes her multiple times when she runs past the nearby lake.

“ _Please_ ”.  

 

***

 

The chair let out a short, plaintive creak. Shade bowed her head, leaning against the table and covering the back of her head with her palms. She was mentally exhausted. She had made haste to Falkreath in hopes that the nightmare would leave her alone along the way, but it hadn’t done so until the Black Door hid her from the outside world. Even though the Sanctuary offered her refuge, the torturing images had pushed her mind to the brink of insanity. Now that she sat here, in her new home’s empty dining hall, she felt too weak to even lift her head. It was her fault that he had died. She should have been faster. She _should_ have been… The Dunmer’s sight began to blur, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The nightmare itself was gone for now, but it was replaced by something far worse: memories.  

“ _Please_ ”, Shade whispered yet again **.**

Despair began to spin its webs around her like a spider, ready to catch her and then consume her. However **,** its devious plan was interrupted by a voice that sounded far more innocent than it actually was.

 

“Bad dreams, huh?”

 

Shade flinched. Her head hurt like someone had just hit it with a maul **.** She couldn’t quite cry like mortals did for her tears were bloodred and stickier. She still felt the same after effects, though. Her eyes hurt, and a throbbing headache hammered her forehead mercilessly.

“What…?” the Dunmer began but stopped after she saw the one whom her scrambled senses had failed to notice. “I’m sorry, elder, I was… distracted.”

“There is no need for formalities. We belong to the same Family now”, the vampire said. “Please, call me Babette.”

Shade tried to smile gratefully, but failure forced her to settle for a simple nod.

“I remember when I went through the same phase after my transformation. The memories haunt you at first, but after a time, you’ll learn not to care.”

“Then time isn’t very fond of me”, Shade mused sadly. “The decades have passed, but I haven’t experienced anything like this until now.”

“Really? But you carry the scent and aura of someone recently awakened. That’s fascinating.”

“I wouldn’t say that. My nightmares are – they are…”

“It’s alright”, Babette told the Dunmer when she saw her inability to continue. “You don’t have to tell me the details.”

 _Thank you,_ the latter replied silently and thought about something to say next.

“Perhaps a good hunt would help me relax”, she tried to make herself sound hopeful.

“Perhaps. You should go and see Nazir anyway. I hear he has three contracts waiting for someone to accept them.”

“I shouldn’t keep him and those lucky souls waiting, then.”

 “Feast well, sister.”

 

***

 

A Nord in Dawnstar: dead.

Another Nord in Ivarstead: dead.

An Imperial hiding near a mill…

 

…dead **.** Blood trickled down the assassin’s chin when she finally let go of her victim’s neck. Her thirst was sated, and she had no use for Ennodius anymore. Shade licked her lips in satisfaction before she discarded the corpse into a waterfall which tossed it around like a ragdoll. She felt better now, but she didn’t like to admit it because it had required her to change her robes to a new set of armour. Those robes had once belonged to her beloved, and they still carried the marks of his fate. They were now stored in her personal chest in the Sanctuary’s sleeping quarters. That made her feel ashamed as if she had hidden all her memories without permission. Perhaps, in this case, those memories were better to be buried – those old, excruciating memories… 

                      Two centuries ago, the robes had been offered to Shade by _them_ **,** the remnants of the Black Hand. She had accepted their offering, and with grief consuming her, she had followed them to the Night Mother’s crypt. That was where three of them had finally learned that they had been wrong about the traitor’s identity, and they paid for it dearly. The Imperial and the Dunmer had fallen to the vengeful Breton’s blade before Shade had sunk her own into his miserable guts. He was the one behind her beloved’s death, and she had relinquished every twist her blade had made within him. But then again… The High Elf. That _wretched, naive, twice-cursed_ elven _bitch_ … No regret, no way to atone. Shade had left the Night Mother’s crypt that night **,** accepting her fate, but after two days, she had returned to Bravil. With the last stages of the untreated Porphyric Hemophilia twisting her guts, she had dragged herself in front of the Old Lucky Lady to make a request of the Unholy Matron. Her deepest desire, a permission to slay the Altmer, had been a minor wish compared to her petition to be allowed to step down as the Listener. It had been unheard of, but instead of punishing Shade for disobedience, the Mother had agreed to replace her. The emancipation hadn’t come without a price, of course, for she had had to swear that when she was needed, she would fulfil her dark destiny. With the awakening senses of a vampire filling her mind, the Dunmer had sworn that oath. Next night, she had visited the Sanctuary to sink her blade into the remaining Speaker’s petty heart. Her death had brought some comfort for Shade, but not nearly enough. She had remained in Cheydinhal until a new Listener had been chosen, and then, she had disappeared into the wilds of Tamriel with the robes and the Blade of Woe as her only possessions. What had happened after that, she had no proper memory of. There were only distorted images, thoughts of thirst, and the bliss of ignorance.

 

…but now Shade was awake. The Night Mother had spoken to her, and the Family needed her. Thus, the only proper thing for her to do next was to return to the Sanctuary.


	3. The jester

The feeling, the strange feeling…

_It cannot be._

There was something odd about the Sanctuary, and it wasn’t the racket that filled the rooms and corridors all the way to the entrance. Shade placed her steps carefully and approached the main hall as if in fear. She sensed that the whole Family had gathered there along with a stranger. There was something else as well, something familiar, but she hadn’t expected to…

_Listener,_ a hoarse woman’s voice echoed inside the Dunmer’s head. _It’s good that you’ve come._

_Oh. Hello, Mother._

 

Most of those present failed to notice the arrival of the light-footed shadow **,** and those who seemed more interested in the unexpected visitor and what, or whom, he had brought with him.

“But the Night Mother is mother to all!” an Imperial wearing a jester’s outfit proclaimed. “It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?”

Apparently, Arnbjorn had already shown his usual attitude towards anything new.

“Keep talking, little man, and we’ll see who gets ‘punished’”, the lycanthropic Nord muttered.

“Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil”, Festus Krex scolded him and turned to speak to the Imperial. “Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition.”  

“Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady’s favour”, the jester replied, his voice as flamboyant as his attire.

“You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero, and you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper”, Astrid’s velvety voice brought closure to the situation even if her words were clearly honeyed.

That was one of the Nord’s most glaring traits: arrogance **.** Shade wasn’t sure whether it was admirable or foolish.

 

And speaking of foolish…

 

The jester began to dance with glee when it became clear that he was welcome to stay. What a character indeed. Obviously insane, of course, but still: a character. When Astrid haughtily made her authority clear, Shade distinguished the mischievous mockery in the Imperial’s humble answer **.** By the look on her face, the Sanctuary’s mistress noticed it too.

“Good”, she stated icily and turned away from the jester only to run into Shade **.**

The Dunmer lowered her hood and stood dutifully in front of the Nord with her legs slightly apart, her arms crossed.

“Ah, there you are”, Astrid noted wearily. “Good. We’ve got business to discuss.”

“Another contract for me, mistress?”

“I have one, indeed. There’s someone in need of our services in Markath. Her name is Muiri, and she works as the local apothecary’s assistant. She has been quite busy, running her mouth around the city. Go and find out what she wants, set up the contract, and carry it out. Understood?”

“Yes”, Shade’s reply was concise and impassive.

“Excellent. Go and…” the Nord quieted momentarily down when the Sanctuary’s honoured guest chose to break into another joyous dance **.** “Ugh. I hope that jester would just… _Ugh._ ”

 

With the departure of their mistress, the Family members dispersed with her grumpy husband in front. Shade should have gone after Nazir, but she chose to stay – or perhaps ‘was forced to’ would be a more proper addition to precede the ‘stay’. It would be a dire understatement to describe someone who talks directly to one’s mind as persistent, after all. The Dunmer glanced towards the large, wooden crate towering by the pond.

_After this blink of time we meet again, Listener_ , the Mother croaked.

“I’m here as you asked¸ Unholy Matron _”,_ Shade spoke nearly inaudibly while she advanced slowly towards the coffin hidden behind planks and nails. “What is my purpose?”

_There are many reasons, my child_ , _and you’ll find one of them in Volunruud. A man named Amaund Motierre is waiting for you there. Speak to him, and you’ll set the Dark Brotherhood on a path which will restore its greatness._

“As you command.”

                      A dark leather boot rose off the stone floor, froze for a moment, and descended back down. The glowing, red eyes turned quickly to look to the left. Shade had unconsciously been so rapt by the Night Mother’s voice that she had forgotten about the jester. The man now stood by her left side, staring at her curiously with his brown eyes.  

“You like talking to yourself?” he cocked his head in question. “As does Cicero. Speaking to oneself is to be in the best company one could ever have! Unless one can be in the company of our Lady, of course. Nothing could ever beat that!”

_Well, I wouldn’t say that,_ Shade opined to herself while an insipid smile moved her lips.

“Indeed”, she said amicably. “You seem like a loyal man, mister Cicero. Our Matron couldn’t wish for a better Keeper.”

“So polite! So nice! Cicero likes you. The Night Mother is sure to like you too. Oh, we’re going to be fast friends. Fast friends.”

_Poor Cicero, sweet Cicero. Such loyalty, such humility. He has served me well, and he’ll serve you the same,_ the Mother told her Listener.

Shade glanced at the large crate, and in so doing, intensified the curiosity gleaming in the jester’s eyes.

“What brings you to the Sanctuary?” the Dunmer asked, unsure to whom her question was actually appointed.

“Well, aren’t you full questions? Questions, confessions”, Cicero rhymed. “The truth is that our Lady’s crypt in Bravil was… desecrated. The Imperial Province is ravaged by strife. Nowhere there is safe, at present. So Cicero brought our Lady to her new home. Here! This is the only Sanctuary left in all of Skyrim, you see. Such was my… honour. As Keeper.”

                      Though the jester’s tale was short, it was powerful enough to stop the flow of time. At least it did so for Shade who realised that if Bravil was lost, then so was the place she had once called home. 

_So, the Cheydinhal Sanctuary is... no more?_ she thought wistfully.

It was where she had begun her… career. The group of Family members, overseen by her beloved, all the brothers and sisters who fell because of the same treachery as he did.

_He did_ , Shade repeated, and her gaze turned blank.

The nightmare was preying upon her, and despite all that she was, she was weak before it. Luckily for her, an odd ally called madness was there to save her.

“…and I said to the baker, ‘You’re not dead! You’re a faker!’ But if that’s your wish, I’ll oblige…” the rhymes drew closer until she became aware of the jester’s face right in front of her.

The ginger-haired Imperial smirked impishly **.**

“What bothers a dear Family member so, I wonder?” he inquired. “Bedbugs? Dull blades? …voices in the head?

Shade stared at him without flinching **.** She wasn’t willing to tell him the truth, not until the Mother told her to do so, so she resorted to vile means.

“I’m merely humbled by the presence of our Matron”, she lied expressionlessly and glanced at the large crate once more. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

“A humble one, too?” Cicero sounded delighted. “Good, good! The Mother needs servants such as you and dear Cicero.”

“She does”, Shade tried to smile again as she turned to go and look for Nazir. “I hope we meet again, mister Cicero.”

“We will, we will”, the jester grinned. “Just wait and see.”

 

The Dunmer’s bluff hadn’t obviously been bought **,** but it had to be enough for now **.** She was grateful that Cicero had unintentionally saved her from a waking nightmare, but she had to go. Would Astrid like it or not, Shade had to go to Volunruud. She wouldn’t forget to visit Muiri either, of course, but the will of the Night Mother came first. She was intrigued to find out what contract would be as glorious as the Matron had promised.

 

Who would need death so badly?


	4. Mourning never comes

 

A chilling scream echoed from the high cliffs and spread all across Markath. The city’s inhabitants, especially the guards patrolling the streets **,** peered to the sky **,** but none of them could see the Dunmer sitting in a small natural cave which protected her from the rays of the sun. She screamed until her throat was hoarse, and when her voice died down, she began to breathe rapidly.

_”No, no”,_ she shook her head miserably. “ _Forgive me, my love, **forgive me…**_ ”

It felt like something cold was trying to strangle her **,** filling her head with guilt and purest pain.

_Please, I can’t bear it any longer, I can’t…_

The nightmare wasn’t willing to let go, and thus the assassin jumped down the ledge. A cloud of bats took flight towards the City of Stone with a silent plea as its escort.

**“** _Have mercy._ ”

 

***

 

The hour was late, and the two moons had conquered the sky. Most of the shops were already closed, and their owners were heading to the local inns for a sweet pint of honey flavoured relief **.** The door of Hag’s Cure was among the last to be locked. An older woman had left the shop a half an hour earlier, leaving her assistant to sweep the floors. The latter was about to leave, too, but a wicked, silent laughter froze her to the spot.

“Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child unto me”, a silvery voice recited from above the door. “Is that what you wished, Muiri?”

The Breton gazed around, startled.

“Who are you?” she quavered.

“The Black Sacrament. You performed it, didn’t you?”

“’The Black’… _Oh._ It really worked?”

“Did you think it would go unnoticed?” Shade hummed in amusement **.** “Tell me what you need, and it shall be done.”

Muiri glanced around to assure herself that no-one was listening.

“Alain Dufont”, she said a name as she leant against the shop’s door. “He and his gang are holed up in Raldbthar, an ancient Dwarven city located near Windhelm. I don’t care what you do to his friends, but Alain must _die._ Do this, and I’ll reward you with gold.”

The Breton grew silent, but Shade suspected that she wasn’t finished yet.

“Anything else?”

“Well, there’s one more thing if you’re interested”, the reply was a line of tangled but also determinate words.

“I’m listening.”

“Go to Windhelm. Kill Nilsine Shatter-Shield”, the Breton’s voice was full of bitter hatred.

“What’s it in for us?” The Dunmer asked.

“I’ll pay you even more.”

_That’s what I like to hear._

“Rest easy, Muiri. You can consider both of them dead already.”

“Good. I have something to help you with your task if you want it”, the Breton said. “Lotus extract. If you coat your blade with it…”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence when she heard footsteps from above. A shrouded figure jumped gracefully down from the roof and landed a few feet away from her.

“The Dark Brotherhood values this contract”, Shade’s teeth glimmered in the light of the lantern placed near the door. “Just like I value my prey… unspiced. Farewell.”

 

***

 

After hiding in the ruins of Raldbthar for an hour or so, the assassin left for Windhelm **.** The bodies of Alain Dufont and his gang had lain on the floor around her while she had sat by the embers of their campfire. She had felt the need to rest, but she didn’t dare to sleep. It would have just meant waking up in horror with the image of her beloved’s corpse in her mind **.** It was ironical that she, the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, was so shaken by the sight. She had done things which could easily be compared to what she had seen at Applewatch, but the sight had been too devastating for her to bear. She had felt dead inside the moment she had laid her eyes on the mutilated corpse hanging from the ceiling. One might call it karma, but such slander didn’t make it hurt any less. Shade wished to forget about the past, but at the same time, she herself prevented it **.** She had been his Silencer, his lover, his nightshade, and he had been her everything. She couldn’t let him go. For all the deeds she had done, the payback was far worse. The knife twisting her guts, the terror inside her mind. Should the nightmares continue, she would surely lose her mind.

 

Well, at least she wouldn’t be the only one, considering the newest inhabitant of the Sanctuary **.** Perhaps insanity could annul insanity.

 

_Pfft_ ¸ the Dunmer huffed when she got the first glimpse of the high walls of Windhelm. _That’s madness. You hear me? Madness._

 

***

 

Snowflakes joined to the wind and formed small whirls on the corners of the cold streets of Windhelm. A shadow moved on top of the buildings’ roofs. Shade had stalked her target all evening. She wanted the extra reward Muiri had promised her, but most of all, she did so to forget. Death had become her profession for a reason: she excelled in its art, and the senses of a vampire drove her after her prey like a bloodhound **.** The nightmare wasn’t obliviously going anywhere, and thus she had no reason to try to atone by abandoning her work. She would do what her beloved had taught her to do during countless lessons. She had enjoyed them immensely, especially the aftermath.

_You’re a rare flower, my nightshade. You flourish when others wither_ ¸ he had said and caressed her skin delicately with the sharp point of his blade. _So admirable, so macabre, so beautiful._

Those words rang inside Shade’s mind when her senses awoke her from the memory. With her eyes widening with thrill, she watched how her prey entered the local Hall of the Dead.

_Perfect._

In the murky lights of the home of the Windhelm’s deceased, the young Shatter-Shield kneeled in front of one of the stone beds. Another Nord who resembled her greatly rested on it: pale, clean, and scented.

“My sister”, a wobbly voice broke the hall’s silence. “I brought you some mountain flowers, the red ones, as you like them.”

The Nord stayed quiet for a moment as if waiting for an answer, and when there was none, she burst into tears.

“I miss you”, she wailed. “We all miss you. If only you could come back. _Come back_.”

Although she didn’t know it, her words had had an effect **.** The vampire had been about to strike, to sink her teeth into the woman’s neck, but now she stood right behind her, feeling unable to move. Shade saw herself in the mourning Nord. It was hard to let go. For the first time, hesitation stopped her from striking. It was an illusion, an impulse, but it was enough to stop her momentarily. Shade quavered and took an unintended step backwards which made her prey aware of her presence. The Nord rose up and turned around. That was when the predator’s senses kicked in **.** Nilsine stared at the Dunmer in horror and tried to scream, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, the vampire’s sharp claws sank into her flesh and her neck snapped. Shade didn’t feel thirsty anymore. She didn’t wish to rest either. It was time to bring the news to Muiri, and then… Well, she should think about how to slip Motierre’s contract into Astrid’s attention. If she was willing to accept it, the Dark Brotherhood would rise from the pathetic shambles it now lay in **.** Why? Well **,** so rarely, if never, did one acquire a contract to kill an emperor.


	5. Her little secret

The mistress of the Falkreath Sanctuary leant gloomily against the entry hall’s stone table **.** Her resentful, deep purple aura stood out from the other ones nearby. For Shade, who had just walked in, it was a sign to stay quiet before she was spoken to.

“I trust that Muiri’s problems have been made to disappear?” the Nord inquired without lifting her gaze from the map she was examining.

“They have”, the Dunmer stated and placed two pouches of gold on the table. “Here’s the payment.”

“Since this was your first real contract. you can keep that. Furthermore, consider it as an advance payment for the task I need you to carry out.”

“Thank you, mistress. How can I be of service this time?”

“This matter is of a more… personal nature”, Astrid turned to look at Shade to emphasize her concern. “I’m talking about Cicero. Ever since he arrived, his behaviour’s been… Well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad, but it’s worse than that. He’s taken to locking himself in the Night Mother’s chamber - and talking. To someone. In hushed, but frantic tones. Who is he speaking with? What are they planning? I fear treachery.”

_Not against the Mother, but against you? Perhaps,_ Shade opined to herself and though about how to phrase it without unnecessarily piquing the Sanctuary’s leader.

“Perhaps he’s just talking to himself?” she suggested as it truly was the most probable answer. “As you said, he’s undeniably mad.”

Astrid was seemingly too convinced with her own theory to even consider other options.

“You must understand”, she appealed to her love for the Family. “If Cicero is turning the others against me… against us… Such division would be too dangerous, if allowed to happen.”

Realising that the Nord couldn’t be talked out of her plans, Shade resigned herself to what was to come.

“What’s the plan?” she inquired **.**

“Dear sister, I need you to steal into that chamber and eavesdrop on the meeting between Cicero and his accomplice. You’ll need to hide well, somewhere they’d never think to look. Perhaps inside the Night Mother’s coffin?”

_What?_

The Dunmer didn’t like at all what she was hearing.  

“That seems… disrespectful”, she protested.

“Be that as it may, there’s probably no choice in the matter, is there?” Astrid glared at her.

“No, mistress. I shall do as you ask.” 

 

When Shade left the room, she was beginning to realise one of the reasons why the Mother had sent her here. The leader of this Sanctuary was _weak._ In her position, there was no room for paranoia. But how could Shade fix the situation? She could dispose of Astrid easily, but then the Sanctuary would need a new leader, and who would that be? Shade herself? Ironically saying, she, too, was weak. The leader shouldn’t be someone haunted by the past, and it was too early to act on the problem anyway. Time was what was needed. Astrid would get a chance to stop continuing on her destructive path, but only the Unholy Matron knew how much time she had left to do so.

 

***

 

The chamber was empty. There were no signs of life to be detected, so the infiltrator was free to enter. Grains of sand grated between the leather boots and stone **.** Shade had no intention of carrying Astrid’s wish out, but she entered the Night Mother’s chamber out of her own volition. It was a bonus to find out that Cicero nor anyone else was around to hear what she had come to do: to speak — and to listen.

“The contract has been accepted”, she reported in a hushed tone.

_Yes. The first step has been taken,_ the Mother was content. _The contract will be carried out, and you’re going to prove your own doubts wrong yet._

“My doubts?”

_Have faith, child. The nightmares will pass._

Shade glanced at the coffin as if there had been a real face on it.

“What do you know about them, Most Unholy Lady?”

The Mother didn’t reply, and Shade grew frustrated.

“I beg you as your faithful servant, tell me!”

 

Though the silence of the Matron continued still, the chamber didn’t remain peaceful for long. The deep, manic chuckling told Shade that she wasn’t alone anymore **.**

“Ooh, the friendly night creature!” Cicero’s high-pitched exclamation reached her ears. “How nice of you to pay homage to our good Lady.”

“Actually, I came to meet you, Cicero”, Shade’s reply was half-true.

**“** Me? Not the Lady? But why would you want to meet poor little Cicero?”

“To ask a question.”

“A question? What question? Tell me! No, wait. Is it a riddle? Tell me it’s a riddle.”

“It might be if I put more effort to it”, Shade hid a surfacing smirk. “But truth to be told, it’s merely a dull question.”

“Oh, such a shame”, the jester lamented.

_You tell me…_

“Have you, by any chance, been talking to yourself? Here, in this room?”

The question was straightforward and quite blatant, but it served its purpose.

“Talking to myself?” the jester wondered. “Just like you did when we first met? Why of course. Sometimes. Many times. But not here. Cicero comes here to speak to the Mother.”

“You talk to the Mother?” Shade quirked a brow. “That’s nice of you.”

“It’s nice to talk to the Mother, yes! Poor Cicero rarely has anyone to talk to.”

“And does she speak back to you?”

“Speak? To Cicero? Oh, no, no, _no_! Cicero is just the Keeper! Our sweet Lady only speaks to the Listener. Otherwise, she’s silent. So silent!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that”, the Dunmer gave a genuine laugh for the first time since awakening from her slumber. “She’s quite talkative when she gets to it.”

                      Maybe the secret should have stayed as one for a little longer. Shade realised her error when she saw how the eccentric Imperial’s face dropped right after she spoke.

“The Mother… She… spoke to you?” the jester asked incredulously. 

“She’s done so several times actually”, the Dunmer said casually for the look in the Imperial’s eyes told her that no matter how she replied, he wouldn’t believe her.

Cicero flew into a rage, and quick as a wink, he charged at her with his dagger drawn. She could have easily fended him off, but she allowed him to push her against the nearest wall. The dagger’s sharp tip danced along the line of the tattoo beneath the Dunmer’s mouth. The setting felt familiar.

_His touch._

“Treachery! Trickery and deceit!” Cicero screamed before his voice turned into a low hiss. “You lie! The Night Mother speaks only to the Listener. And there is… _no_ … _Listener_!”

“Why would I trick you, Cicero?” Shade said, her tone velvety. “That would be… madness.”

The corner of the jester’s mouth twitched with forthcoming laughter. He leant away from Shade, and he seemed absent for a moment.

“Madness”, he began to giggle. “Madness! But… no Listener. The Mother doesn’t speak to Cicero, to anyone! Deceit!”

                      There was no way to reason with the Keeper. Still, when his grimacing face came closer to Shade’s again, she didn’t move. The uncontrollable intensity with which he assailed her was as liberating as it was invigorating **–** and she enjoyed it. The thrill helped her forget about the past **,** at least for a moment.

But then _she_ decided to speak.

_He doesn’t understand, my loyal Cicero_ ¸ the Night Mother said. _Release him from his anguish. Tell him the words he has been waiting for. “Darkness rises when silence dies.”_

Shade’s gaze wandered towards the coffin while the dagger slid down her chin, leaving a thin trail of blood behind.

“So, what say you, hmm?” the jester demanded while he lowered his blade to the height of her clavicles. “Speak, worm!”

The Dunmer hesitated on purpose to prolong the moment **.**

“My dear jester”, she whispered. “Darkness rises when silence _dies_.”

 “She…” Cicero stared at her, dumbfounded. “She said those words… to you?” ‘Darkness rises when silence dies’?”

“Yes.”

“But those are the words. The Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I would know. Mother’s only way of talking to sweet Cicero…”

Then it hit him. The Keeper lowered his dagger, took several steps backwards, and began to dance. Shade couldn’t help feeling disappointed even if the jubilant performance was fun to watch.

“It’s true”, Cicero cheered and gaggled. “True, true, true! She is back! Our Lady is back, and she has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been chosen! All hail the Listener!”

 

There was nothing wrong with joy and cheer **,** but in this case, they attracted unwanted attention. Astrid rushed into the room with a short sword in her hand and a vicious gleam in her eyes.

“By Sithis, this ends now!” she yelled triumphantly as she glared at Cicero. “Back away, fool! Whatever you’ve been planning is over!”

“Planning?” he wondered **.** “Should Cicero have been planning something? A party? A nice little soirée?”

“ _Shut up_.”

“He’s innocent, mistress”, Shade stepped forth. “He has spoken only to the Night Mother.”

“To the Night Mother?” Astrid’s speech was slowed down by confusion **.** “So… there’s no accomplice? No traitor?”

“I spoke only to the Night Mother!” Cicero declared. “I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn’t speak to me. Oh no. She spoke only to her! To the Listener!”

_By Sithis, you shouldn’t probably have said that…_

“What? The Listener?” the Nord was utterly stunned. **“** What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?”

“It’s true, it’s true!” the jester capered with joy. “Chosen, chosen, our Lady has chosen! I have served Mother well, I have!”

                      Astrid’s patience was running thin. She squeezed her sword’s hilt with rage, and her nose wrinkled as she grimaced at the jester.  She wouldn’t have gotten close to him even if she had tried, though, for Shade stepped between them.

“What in Sithis’ name is going on?” the Nord focused her anger on the Dunmer. “Cicero spoke to the Night Mother, but she spoke to _you_? Is this just more of the fool’s rambling?”

“It’s not”, the latter countered her reaction with a calm stare. “Our Matron speaks to me.”

“What? So Cicero wasn’t talking to anyone else. Just... the Night Mother’s body?”

_Ugh. How stubborn,_ Shade cursed to herself before she answered the question pithily. “Yes.”

“And the Night Mother”, the questioning continued, ”who, according to everything we know, will only speak to the person chosen as Listener… just spoke. Right now… to you?”

_Well..._

“Yes.”

“By Sithis. And… what did she say?”

Seeing her opportunity, Shade spoke the truth – well, half of it anyway.

“A man named Amaund Motierre has a contract for us. I should go to Volunruud to meet him”, she took a risk by trusting that she would be the one sent to “acquire” the already existing contract.

“Hmm? No. No!” Astrid’s reply was quick. “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you take your orders from me. Are we clear on that?”

Shade had to fight back a sigh.

“Yes, mistress.” 

“Good. The Night Mother may have spoken to you, but _I_ am still the leader of this Family. I will not have my authority so easily dismissed. I… I need time to think about all this. Go see Nazir – do some work for him. I’ll find you when I’m ready to discuss the matter further.” 

 

The Sanctuary’s mistress left the room. Shade waited until the last traces of her aura disappeared from the proximity of the room.

_Weakling_ , she huffed to herself and turned to look at Cicero who didn’t seem to have cared about Astrid’s tantrum.

He still seemed overjoyed. Shade knew that she should take her leave unless she wished to become the next target of the Nord’s paranoia, but not just yet. The smile on her pale lips was more genuine than before.

“Thank you for our… chat”, she said. “I really needed that.”

“Cicero is glad to help!” the jester smiled widely. “Whatever the Listener needs! Whatever she asks!”

Shade couldn’t stop herself from chuckling. Eloquently, she lifted her right hand to graze the Imperial’s chin before she turned to leave.

“Farewell for now, sweet Keeper”, she hummed. “Don’t hide the dagger too well.”


	6. Gratitude

Vampire versus vampire. A fight for the ages, one might say, but in truth, it wasn’t so glorious. One vampire versus two vampires, then? Well, it was a challenge, and it meant more claw marks to heal, but otherwise…

_Easy_ , the assassin thought with a hint of hubris.

Both vampires had been weaker than her, so technically, it had been a contract like any other. But what about the bard? That cawing, lute-plucking Orsimer. No wonder someone had wanted him dead. His voice might have resembled the creaking of a rusty iron gate **,** but his blood had served nicely as a supper. It would be more than enough to keep Shade’s strength up during her journey back to the Sanctuary. She was eager to return there because this day had shown her one thing. While she had been reluctant, even afraid, to sleep, she had been surprised by her dreams. She had seen the nightmare again, but it hadn’t _felt_ so bad anymore because of a rhyming voice that had broken through the dream. It had been a bit unclear, but recognizable. It had whispered to her ear, urging her to sink her blade into the ones responsible. It hadn’t taken away the horror, but it had diluted it with a satisfying vengeance. Considering the ease brought by it… such service should be rewarded at least with a grateful word **,** shouldn’t it?

 

***

 

Upon arriving to the Sanctuary, the returning Family member ran into its leader as soon as she descended the first two sets of stairs. Apparently, Astrid had thought about what had happened in the Night Mother’s chamber **.** Opining that it would be foolish to ignore the Matron’s will, and that the Sanctuary had enough madness with Cicero living there, the Nord had tasked Shade with meeting Amaund Motierre. She, on the other hand, couldn’t reveal that the contract had already been accepted for obvious reasons, and thus she agreed dutifully to carry out the task. Had the Sanctuary’s mistress had a change of heart? Was she beginning to understand that her will wasn’t everything, that the Night Mother was above her? Technically, Shade outranked her as well. Astrid wouldn’t admit that of course, at least not yet, but acknowledging the importance of Motierre’s contract was a start. Besides, the Nord would undoubtedly be very pleased with the advance payment which was nothing to turn one’s nose up at. The assassination of a ruler was expensive, after all, and speaking of payments…

 

_Where’s Nazir?_

 

Shade searched the Sanctuary’s rooms for her Redguard brother who currently controlled the purse strings. It was no surprise that she found him in the dining hall, but she hadn’t anticipated others, except for Astrid and Cicero, to be there too. They were laughing.

“Ha ha ha ha!” the Argonian’s voice ended up being the loudest. “Again! Do the part where he tries to buy you some candy.”

“Okay, okay. Wait. Here we go”, Babette obliged. “’Ooh, you are such a pretty little girl. Would the sweetie like a sweetie? Oh yes. How about some chocolate?’ Oh yes, please, kind sir. My mama and papa left me all alone, and I’m so very hungry. I know a shortcut to the candy shop. Through this alley. ‘Oh ya, very good. Very good. My, it is dark down here. Oh, but you are so beautiful. Such a lovely smile. Your teeth… your teeth! No! Aggghh!!’”

Everyone laughed again, and Shade joined them with a chuckle she hid behind her palm. She had enjoyed these kinds of gatherings during her time in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. Maybe she should **…** join in? While she weighed her options, Nazir inquired about the outcome of Festus’ latest contract **.** Arnbjorn was quick to mock the latter’s abilities, but his jest was countered nonchalantly by its target.

“Ah, the young and stupid”, the wizard mused wickedly. “Always mocking the experienced and brilliant. My contract went very well, I’ll have you know. Tried a new spell. Little something I’ve been working on in my spare time. Came ‘this’ close to turning that priest inside out. Damned messy.”

“And what of your latest, Arnbjorn. Something about a Khajiit? Merchant was it?” the Family’s other Dunmer, Gabriella, inquired from the irritable Nord.

“Oh, a big doggy chasing a little kitty! How adorable!” Babette teased him in an overly childish manner which the others found hilarious.

Of course, Arnbjorn saw the matter a little differently.

“I am not adorable”, he growled, “it was not funny, and he wasn’t a merchant. He was a Khajiit monk, a master of the Whispering Fang style. But now he’s dead… and I have a new loincloth.”

                      With merry laughter filling the hall once more, a decision was made. Shade moved closer to the table and sat on a free corner of the nearby bench. The others glanced at her, and while some of them dismissed her as quickly **,** some greeted her with a welcoming smile.

“If it isn’t the newest vampire of our Family”, Nazir noted with a hint of jest. “Feel welcome to join us. We were just sharing stories. I trust your contracts went well?”

“They did”, Shade replied. “I suspect, however, that after all the interesting stories already told, a croaking bard isn’t worth talking about.”

“Damn right”, Arnbjorn muttered while some others chuckled.

“But as I understand, you’ve been with the Brotherhood for quite some time. What about your old contracts? Before you came here”, Babette suggested.

“Yes, tell us how you’ve seeped the blood of your victims over the years”, Festus jeered. “It’s much more impressive than deadly spells, I’m sure.”

_“_ You might be surprised”, Shade deflected his words with an unruly smirk. “But before my transformation, I was as humane as you – or inhumane if you will. Anyway, I was once invited to a party with five other guests: a Nord, a Redguard, a Dunmer, a Breton, and an Imperial. Someone wanted them dealt with efficiently **,** hence the occasion. The Nord I killed in the cellar while he was drinking. The Dunmer and the Imperial I surprised in the middle of an intimate… discussion. Then I told the old Breton how I’d seen the Redguard enter both rooms just before the others were killed. She stabbed him while he slept, and — well, what can I say? I ended up with one bleeding Breton.”

“Ha ha! That was brilliant!” Gabriella praised her.

“Ingenious”, Babette agreed.

The others laughed too.

”That was impressive”, Nazir admitted. “Got any more stories like that?”

“Well”, Shade gave the matter some thought. “I once staged a death. A Breton had angered some wrong people, and he offered his mother’s life to the Brotherhood in exchange for helping to save his own…”

 

***

 

What an evening. The invigorating effect of laughing oneself to oblivion… It was something Shade had forgotten. When she had last visited the Sanctuary, the jester had reminded her of its meaning by reigniting her forgotten laughter. Thanks to it, she had felt emancipated **.** She had had _fun_. There was something else, however, something that had made her feel alive. The memory of her beloved’s harsh, demanding touch. The feral feeling it had always filled her with… Recreating it could never erase the longing, but perhaps it would be enough to ease some of the pain?

 

_Perhaps there’s more for me to thank him of?_


	7. A visit

The scent of dry soil filled the Listener’s nostrils. Long, charcoal strands of hair danced playfully behind her as she walked along the Sanctuary’s corridors in search of a familiar aura. She had visited the Night Mother’s chamber first, but it had been empty. In the end, she found what—or who—she was looking for from a reclusive room behind it.  

 _Ah, there you are_ ¸ she hid her smirk and turned to head towards a reclusive room.

“…when I next meet, the fair maid Nelly, I’ll plunge my knife into her belly…” the jester’s rhyming reached her before she even saw him.  

The Dunmer stopped to lean against the wall with her right upper arm pressed against its rough surface.

“Poor Nelly”, she noted huskily.

“Who...?” the Keeper turned around. “Oh! _Oh_! The Listener! How can good Cicero be of service to you today, hmm?”

“Oh, I just needed a light to brighten this gloomy home of ours.”

“Light? Lighten? To be lighted? Of course. Can I offer you a candle? Or two?”

“No, Cicero”, Shade chuckled and pushed herself off the wall. “It’s a different kind of light. ”

“Is it a torchbug? A spell?” the jester was curious. “Or perhaps the Listener is pulling poor Cicero’s leg **,** and what she seeks doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, but it does”, the Dunmer pushed herself off the wall and took one short step forward. “The light is laughter; the laughter is light.”

“He he he. That it is. A jolly laugh. Capering. Laughing while dancing. It lights one’s life, indeed. Like a torch!”

                      There it was again **:** a smile rippling on the Dunmer’s pale lips. Her fingers wandered on an unused, rusty candleholder, and one of them got stung by a sharp edge **.** She brought the bloody finger in front of her and put it her in her mouth **.** She felt Cicero’s gaze on her, and she chose to return it.

“Do you remember what I said about your dagger when we last met?” she asked, lowering her hand back down.

The jester frowned.

“Dagger, dagger…” he recalled **.** “Oh yes! The Listener said that I shouldn’t hide it. Why? Are we going to kill someone?”     

“No, Cicero. I need you to do me a simple favour”, candlelight goldened Shade’s skin as she drew closer to the Imperial **.** “Draw your dagger and press its blade flat against my cheek. Could you do this for me?”

She had never seen him so still.

“But… Why would humble Cicero hurt the good Listener?” he sounded genuinely confused.

“My sweet Keeper”, Shade chuckled and cocked her as she brought her face momentarily closer to his, “there will be no harm done if you press gently.”

Their gazed locked, and soon, without another word, the jester’s hand moved towards the small sheath on his belt and drew out his dagger as requested. He admired it for a moment as he twirled it between his fingers. Then, with care, he grabbed its hilt more firmly and raised it closer to Shade’s face. The blade was so close that she could almost feel its cool touch, but then… it stopped. Cicero lowered his gaze with a hint of shame.

“I’m sorry, Listener. I can’t do that to you.”

 

_For Sithis’ sake… What do I need to do to convince you, jester?_

 

Shade was at a loss, and that made her indescribably frustrated. She hadn’t anticipated the turn the situation had taken. What would work on someone like Cicero? Threats? No way. Reward? …encouragement?

_Am I really this desperate to fulfil such a silly desire? To manipulate him to do so for me?_

Shade answered her own question when she reached for the Imperial’s hand which still held the dagger.

“Poor Cicero”, she said his name with compassion. “So humble. Should someone else ask you to do the same thing I ask, would you do it?”

“It depends”, the jester now stared at their joined hands. “A stranger I would just… kill. He he. Someone I know? Maybe. But not the Listener. The Listener is second only to the Mother!”

“But see how easy it is”, Shade encouraged him when she began to slowly lift his hand for him. “This hand may have sent countless souls to our Dread Father, but that’s not what I’m asking, is it?”

“No… no. No, _no!”_ the jester drew his hand away from her, cutting her palm with his blade in the process.

The Dunmer’s eyes widened a little. She raised her hand in front of her face to inspect the wound. It was a clean, shallow cut. She bit her lower lip before she suddenly revealed her bleeding palm to the Imperial. 

“ _Oh_ — Bad Cicero! Foolish Cicero! _”_ he wailed. “The Listener is hurt! Bad, bad. Bad and sad…”

                      As the Dunmer witnessed the jester’s lament, a thought came to her. If she was right, she knew how to push his buttons perfectly.

“Look what you’ve done”, she compelled him. “You hurt me.”

“Cicero is sorry, Listener”, the Imperial’s voice wavered. “I didn’t want to do this!”

“And yet you did. Would you hurt our mother like this? That would mean you’re not a very good Keeper.”

“But Cicero _is_ a good Keeper! I have served the Mother well. I brought her here where the Listener was waiting!”

“No. _Look what you have done_. The Listener bleeds… because of you.”

“ _No_ ”, the jester’s hands began to shake, and he dropped the dagger to the floor.

“Oh, but you did”, Shade provoked him when she saw him cracking.

“No _._ He he he… _No_.”

“Pathetic fool”, the Dunmer grinned. “You don’t deserve to be the Keeper.”

That was the last straw.

“ ** _Silence_** _!”_

 

A hand landed on Shade’s bare throat, its grip strengthened by rage and frustration. The moment it grabbed her, adrenaline rushed through her veins, and a new kind of feeling filled her body. How could one forget something so sweet? So intense? Had vampirism caused her to forget everything besides sorrow and guilt? There had been no joy, no real laugh, no… ecstasy. What else had she forgotten? Now that she stared into Cicero’s brown eyes which flashed with disgust and hate, knowing that she had purposefully pushed him too far, she felt...

 _Sorry_ , she thought at first, but when the jester pushed her against the nearest wall, that feeling disappeared.

“Cicero is loyal to the Mother, obedient! Our sweet Lady is maiden, mother”, he lowered his voice momentarily, “and crone… And Cicero is her faithful Keeper!”

“Yes, you are”, Shade croaked, her voice hoarse from pressure. ”Loyal. Strong. A perfect Keeper. But do you see? You’re more than that. The Listener is at your mercy. What you’re going to do, sweet jester?”

                      Confusion took over the Imperial. He kept tilting his head from one side to another while occasionally nodding towards Shade’s face. He didn’t loosen his hold on her until he began to gaggle.

“Oh, I see. I see!” he uttered between a series of short laughs. “The Listener tricked Cicero to do her bidding. Clever, very clever. Such cruel things she said… but clever!”

There it was again. Shade had first seen it on the day Cicero had arrived at the Sanctuary. Despite all his eccentricities, his mind was like a razor. Thinking about it, and him in general, reawakened the regret within the Dunmer. She sighed **,** thinking how selfish she had been, and turned her gaze away from the Imperial whose hand had slid down her throat and onto her chest.

“I’m sorry, Cicero”, she murmured **,** ashamed. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this.”

“Don’t be sorry, Listener. The Fool of Hearts is not made of glass”, the Imperial replied, sounding surprisingly sane. “And this was… intriguing.”

Shade glanced at him and hummed softly.

“I’m glad to hear that”, she smiled, slipping away from his grasp. “I should go while Falkreath’s inhabitants are still asleep. I’m famished. Good night to you, Cicero.”

 

One of the nearby candles burned out. Its final trail of smoke carried a whisper to the Dunmer who had turned to walk out of the room.

“Good night… Listener.” 


	8. Her past

A pair of crows flew over a watchtower, attracted by a guard’s body lying on its top. His killer sat on one of the crenels, leaning against a merlon. Instead of returning to the Sanctuary after her nightly hunting, Shade had crossed the Jerall Mountains. She had had no reason journey to Volunruud anymore, but to convince Astrid, she had to spend some time away from the Sanctuary. She had chosen to spend that time in Cheydinhal. The city lied near Skyrim’s southwest border, and crossing the mountains wasn’t a hard task for a vampire — even if the weather there was freezing cold. Luckily, the climate had turned warmer as she neared her destination, and a good meal had banished the last traces of the chilling journey.

Besides, cold or not, to Shade’s mind, the trip had been… necessary.

 

The abandoned house near Arkay’s chapel was still standing. Apart from the marks time had placed on it, the house looked the same as Shade remembered it **.** She didn’t dare to go inside and see if the Sanctuary itself was intact, but considering what Cicero had told her, there was a chance that it was.

_The Brotherhood’s last stand in Cyrodiil_ , Shade thought wistfully, and she couldn’t help wondering whether things would be different if she had stayed.

The truth was, however, that she hadn’t been ready to receive the honour bestowed upon her back then.

_You have been chosen! You are to be my new Listener!_ she could almost hear the words the Night Mother had spoken inside the crypt. _You possess strength, and cunning, and a heart as black as midnight._

“Black as midnight”… What good was such a heart if it was broken? Just a day before, Shade had still been _his_ faithful Silencer.

_Now, you will serve the Black Hand. You will serve **me**_ **,** he had told her, sounding proud, and she had sworn loyalty to him.

 

“ _Lucien_.”

 

The name the Dunmer had whispered was given to the evening’s light breeze to carry. Her beloved. Her master. Her Speaker. When he had first come to meet her… She remembered his intense gaze vividly: brown eyes evaluating her, mesmerizing her. His presence… thrilling. Shade had slain Rufio only to see him again, and he had visited her the very same night as if he had been following her. The Speaker had said that they wouldn’t see each other again, and she had felt disappointed. Before disappearing again, however, he had come closer to her, _so close_ , only to smell her hair.

_I’ll be following your… progress_ , he had said, and the mere memory made Shade shiver.

Lucien’s dominating behaviour had bewitched her. Back then, she had been known as the Hero of Kvatch and the Champion of Cyrodiil. No one had had the nerve to cross her. She had been a hero, but alas, her life had been _purposeless_. Being worshipped by the people can only carry one so far, and it eventually left Shade in a limbo where nothing felt… well **,** nothing **.** The way Lucien had controlled her from the start had felt indescribably liberating. She had had no responsibility over others, no authority… Everything she had had to do was to follow orders. At first, she had worked for Vicente and Ocheeva, but after several successful contracts, Lucien had invited her to Fort Farragut. He had taken her under his wing, taught her everything he knew, but she had still resided at the Sanctuary. At first, it had been purely professional, a bond between a master and an apprentice.

 

Then everything had changed.

 

After carrying out a contract for Ocheeva, Shade had headed to Fort Farragut for yet another lesson. The journey back from Fort Sutch had been a long one, and she had been tired. When she had entered Lucien’s hideout through a secret door, there had been nothing to greet her but darkness and silence. Disappointed by her mentor’s absence, Shade had called out to him. He had appeared from the shadows without a sound, surprising her from behind. He had caught her by the waist while covering her mouth with his other hand.

_Now, now, child. That’s not a proper way for an assassin to enter_ , he had whispered.

To prove herself to him, Shade had fought back. Should she have been caught like that by a guard, for example, there would have been only one valid course of action **—** escape **.** She had squirmed wildly in the Speaker’s hold, but he had been stronger. While she had hopelessly tried to break free, thrill had spread across her body. Her breath had quickened due to the mad beating of her heart. Then, when she had finally stopped, too exhausted to continue, he had held her still. Shade had felt Lucien’s breath grazing her neck until it had been replaced by his lips. To feel his touch… it had been maddening. It had set her soul aflame. Such was how her “internship” had first deepened into a peculiar friendship, and finally, a relationship.

                      Remembrance of one her fondest memories led the Dunmer’s wandering mind slowly to the brink of yet another memory which served as an explanation for her behaviour around Cicero. Perhaps he and Lucien weren’t alike, but “normal” had never exactly been a word to describe the events of Shade’s life nor her… tastes. She had found out about the latter when Lucien had refused to sleep with her **,** saying that it would be “ill-advised”. She had expressed her dismay loudly, and he had shackled her to a wall, leaving her raging, kicking, and screaming amidst the darkness. When she finally quieted down, he had returned and scolded her for disobedience. She had appeared humble before him, ready to withstand any punishment, but she hadn’t certainly expected what was to come. He had collared her with his belt, bitten her, spanked her… At first, Shade had been astounded, but then, one harsh hit after another, she had noticed the feeling of pleasure unravelling within her. Lucien had twisted her nipples, taken her nub between his fingernails and squeezed — and then he had run his blade gently across her right cheek. It had been a test **,** and he had been pleased to find out that she cherished the sensations he introduced her to.

_My nightshade,_ he had called her. _Such a good flower you are._ _I must wonder, how much can the stalk take before it breaks? What makes its petals fall?_

He had continued testing her limits until she broke before him. He had demanded satisfaction for it, and she had begged him to punish her for her weakness. He had tightened his grip on the belt around her neck, and only then had he finally taken her.

_You belong to me, lovely murderess._

“Only to you”, Shade concurred out loud **.**

_My will is your command._

“My command.”

_You are mine, sweet nightshade. **Mine**_ **.**

 

***

It started to rain. Shade rose to her feet **,** ready to leave the city behind for good. She realised now how she had allowed the memory of Lucien erase everything else from her mind, feelings included. She would never forget her time with him, even if she had feared it to happen **.** He dwelled in the Void in the company of the Dread Father, and someday she would join him. Until then, she’d serve the Night Mother.

 

_And maybe, just maybe_ ¸ Shade found herself musing before a swarm of bats took flight from the top of the tower, _there could something new for me to… feel?_


	9. The jester's promise

“You’re joking”, Astrid’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

After returning to Skyrim, Shade had headed straight to the Sanctuary to deliver the news she had kept secret for several days. The Dunmer stared unblinkingly at the Nord to show that she most certainly wasn’t joking.

“Motierre gave me this letter along with this amulet”, she handed over the proof. “If the latter is what I think it is, it’s worth a fortune.”

“Really? And what is it then?”

“An amulet of the Emperor’s Elder Council.”

“ _By Sithis_ ”, Astrid breathed. “Then… you’re not joking. To kill the Emperor of Tamriel… The Dark Brotherhood hasn’t done such a thing since the assassination of Pelagius. As a matter of fact, no one has dared assassinate an Emperor of Tamriel since the murder of Uriel Septim, and that was two hundred years ago.”

“And it was a dowdy deed”, Shade opined. “The Mythic Dawn’s assassins came in force and hunted the Emperor down in the sewers. I wouldn’t call it an assassination.”

“Hmm? How do you know this?”

“It’s a long story, but I was there when he was killed. Messy business.”

“Huh. As you say”, the Nord collected her thoughts. “But listen to me now. I don’t know exactly what’s going on here, if you’re the Listener, or this is some fluke, or what. But what we now have before us… We’ll accept the contract. If we pull this off, the Dark Brotherhood will know a fear and respect we haven’t seen in centuries. You think I’d abandon an opportunity to lead my Family to glory?”

“No, mistress”, Shade kept her face stolid. “How shall we proceed?”

“I need more to time to think on the matter, but there’s one thing I need to know before I decide anything. Go visit Delvin Mallory in Riften’s Ratway. He can tell you what Motierre’s offering is worth. If he’s willing to buy it, sell it. He’ll offer you a letter of credit – that’s fine. He can be trusted.”

“Understood.”

“Good **.** Return to me once you’ve spoken with Delvin **.** Let’s see if you’re correct about that amulet.”

 

***

 

The scent of nightshades and embers wafted through the Sanctuary’s empty main hall. Arnbjorn wasn’t working the forge, and Shade had seen Veezara heading outside earlier. Their absence mattered little **,** though, for she wasn’t interested in trivial chatter. She was going to follow her usual pattern: ask for some extra work first and then leave after sunset. Before she reached the slope at the end of the hall, however, she heard familiar laughter coming from the top of the nearby stairs.

“Listener!” Cicero exclaimed joyfully. “So good to see you!”

“Cicero”, the Dunmer said his name with a smile.

“I’ve been waiting for the Listener to return for I must speak with her”, the Imperial danced down the stairs with perfect balance.

“With me? Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, no. Not at all! I have a message for you!”

“Oh?” Shade cocked her head in surprise. “What’s the message?”

“Despite not being in love with the light, the Listener would be wise to sleep in the Sanctuary tonight.”

“Well, um… I can do that.”

The Imperial smiled widely.

“Splendid!”

                      Shade was dumbfounded. She turned around to look at Cicero who now strutted towards the stairs which were the quickest way to reach the Night Mother’s chamber. As she watched him go, she sensed yet another aura by her side.

“I hate jesters”, Nazir muttered **.**

“Oh, I don’t know”, Shade contemplated. “He’s different, I’ll give him that.”

“Considering how he yelled at you a couple of nights ago, he is more than that **.”**

_Oh. I guess I should have seen that coming…_

“I’m sorry if our conversation bothered you.”

“I would steer clear of him if I were you”, the Redguard folded his arms across his chest, “although I don’t know how much your kind values the opinions of others.”

“That depends on the sincerity of the opinion given”, the Dunmer replied. “Besides, our cheerful friend _is_ the Keeper. His work is invaluable.”

“Bah”, the Redguard’s muffled grunt made her chuckle.

“Did you have something for me?” she changed the subject.

“Just passing through. But if you’re interested…”

“Always.”

“That’s what I like to hear”, Nazir smiled in his barely noticeable way. “There are three contracts waiting to be claimed: an Argonian, a Khajiit, and a Wood Elf. Take your pick.”

“Poor me”, Shade jested with a miserable voice **.** “I’ve never been good at choosing.”

“Greedy one, aren’t you?” the Redguard gave a laugh. ‘

“Or perhaps I just don’t know how to share.”

“Ha ha, I like that.” 

“I aim to please”, Shade smirked wickedly. ”Any details on the lucky three?”

“I’ll need to deliver this report to Astrid first. Then we can talk. I’ll meet you at the dining hall over drinks, or at least _I ’ll_ have a drink.”

“It’s a deal.”

 

***

 

 _Precious night-time_.

While some Family members, like Babette, had headed outside and wouldn’t return until dawn **,** those who remained were resting, shrouded by pleasant darkness. All candles had been put out, and the only sound in the murky halls was the purl of water. Normally Shade would have joined those wandering outside in the moonlight, but curiosity kept her in the Sanctuary. She lied on a pile of furs, wearing a grey, plain nightgown. Her modest bed was placed in an alcove next to the sleeping area because to her mind, it was the comfiest place inside the Sanctuary because it felt like home. The Black Hand banner and the stone tablet with the Tenets carved on it were remnants of the Dark Brotherhood she had once known. Those familiarities soon lulled the Dunmer to sleep **,** allowing the nightmare to reveal itself again. This time, however, something was different. The surroundings of Applewatch didn’t feel so ominous. Once inside, the Dunmer didn’t find her beloved’s body. It confused her greatly, and she decided to investigate the house, but she didn’t have the time. Something drew her away from the hazy world of dreams, and it didn’t take long for her to realise what that something had been.

 

She was being watched.

 

Shade’s instincts woke her up abruptly. Her vampiric eyes flew wide open, and she turned her gaze swiftly upwards when she didn’t sense anyone beside her.

“Cicero?” she breathed in surprise.

The jester grinned wickedly and lifted his dagger in front of his lips to urge her to remain silent. He had settled above her on all fours, catching her between his legs. How on the Nirn had he managed to do that quietly enough to fool a vampire?

 _I’m here, as you asked_ , Shade thought as she gazed up at the Imperial. _What do you intend to do?_

Cicero leant closer to her and lowered his dagger to her throat, forcing her to tilt her head slightly to the right. The Dunmer’s lips parted when thrill coursed through her body **.**

“I’m delighted to see that the Listener agreed to my humble request”, the Imperial spoke in an undertone. “I thought about it, he he, what the Listener wants. She needs to be at her best to serve the Mother, and I’m sure our dear Matron would want Cicero to help her.”

The dagger followed the lines of Shade’s face with perfect precision until its blade was pressed flat against her left cheek **.**

“From now on, the Listener needs only to ask, and Cicero will grant her wish.”

 

With those words said, the dagger was lifted off the Dunmer’s pale cheek. From the corner of her eye, she saw how the jester silently rose to his feet and disappeared into the shadows of the Sanctuary. She didn’t follow him for perplexity kept her lying on the furs. He had taken her by surprise. The thrill, the intrigue… Even the little bits she had gotten now made her feel intoxicated.

 

There was no reason to hold back anymore, was there?


	10. Her fancy

The Dark Brotherhood’s most ambitious plan in ages was finally put in motion. The next scene of the grand play would take place in four days in Solitude at the wedding of the Emperor’s cousin. Let’s just say that the blushing bride would suffer an unfortunate… accident. Until then, Shade, to whom the task had been given, was free to concentrate on her other contracts **.** She had already fed tonight, and she felt rested after sleeping for a few hours, so she could have just left to hunt her targets, but she didn’t. She just lied on her bed and stared at the ceiling. She drew lots to decide what she should do even though the answer was clear.

The Sanctuary was nearly empty at the moment, and there wouldn’t probably be another similar opportunity in some time **.**

The Dunmer stood up, deep in thought, and her feet began to guide her towards one of the most reclusive corners of the Sanctuary. She was driven by a desire that had enthralled her the night the jester had spoken to her, and there was no place for decency – not anymore.

   

***

 

All candles in the room had burned out except for one. Despite the scarce lighting, the vampire denied herself from using her senses. It would have sorely spoiled the possibility of surprise. She looked around, but she didn’t espy him whom she had come to meet. Shade walked further into the room, unsure whether she should call out his name or not. She noticed an open book on the table as well as a mug beside it. The scent of Cyrodiilic Brandy was still strong **.** Had he just left, or was he in hiding?

 

The last assumption proved to be correct.

Sneaking up to someone from behind was something assassins did best so, in a way, it wasn’t surprising. What was surprising, however, was how a loop was slipped over Shade’s head on the quiet. When the rope tightened around her neck, she instinctively grabbed it with her left hand while silent giggling came closer to her ear.

“Listener!” Cicero suppressed his gleeful exclamation. “Tell that you’ve come to ask Cicero for a favour, please tell.”

Shade could almost feel his teeth on her skin, bared by a wide grin.

“I have”, she uttered the words with tingling feeling spreading all over her face.

“Ask”, the jester advised her.

“I ask you to help me.”

“ _Ask_ ”, the rope tightened even more, leaving the Dunmer gasping quietly.

“Please, Keeper, _hurt me_ ”, she pleaded bluntly **.**

“Ooh, so plainly put. _Good_.”

                      The jester’s last word was spoken in an ominously low tone **.** He withdrew from Shade, and she felt a sudden yank on the rope, forcing her to tilt her head backwards. Her right arm was caught firmly and drawn behind her back, and so was the other in turn. The rope began to coil around them like a snake.

“He he he”, the jester chuckled darkly while he tightened the last knot between her wrists. “I’ll break her will, just wait and see… and if she, should choose to fight, why then I’ll set her clothes alight...”

Shade’s instincts warned her of danger, and that made the thrill even more intense.

“Kneel”, Cicero whispered in her ear.

She did as she was told, and she felt at ease **.** To obey, not to command — the bliss it brought hadn’t disappeared.

After restraining her neck and arms, the Imperial finally stepped into her field of view.

“She loves pain, does she?” he mused, inspecting the sharp edge of his ebony dagger **.** “Cicero can provide that. Indeed, I’m an expert, I am.”

_I know you are, sweet Keeper, I know you are…_

The Dunmer’s excitement blended into the surrounding silence when the jester’s smiling face appeared in front of her eyes. She distinguished his brown gaze clearly. It had a wicked gleam to it. Her would-be tormentor was clearly as excited as she was, though she wasn’t sure to what point.

_We’ll see._

 “It’s a rare opportunity you have so gracefully offered to Cicero”, the jester said with enthusiasm rippling in his voice **.** “Matron’s duty has stayed my blade so often that I get to hurt barely anyone these days.”

Then, carefully, he brought the point of his dagger beside Shade’s right ear. She felt a slight pinch when it stung her skin **.** Soon she felt another pinch and then another. Cicero worked a straight line over her cheeks and nose to her other ear. By the time he was ready, she had a line of little blood rubies adorning her skin **.** It made her face itch.

“Ooh, so neat, if I say so myself”, Cicero grabbed her chin and admired his own handiwork. “Does this please the Listener?”

“Yes”, Shade replied hoarsely.

“ _Splendid_ ”, the Imperial smirked and brought his face unexpectedly close to hers.

Until now, he had always maintained a short distance, but now she felt the tip of his nose on her left cheek.

“The scent of blood, so sweet”, he marvelled, “and...”

                      Something changed. Shade felt a light brush on her skin when Cicero turned his head and inhaled a different kind of scent before withdrawing from her again. He had smelled her hair which she had washed with a paste made of freshly ground herbs and water **.** Now that she looked at him, she saw a hint of confusion in his eyes, and the corners of his lips twitched.

_Please, don’t stop now_ , she begged silently.

Her fear was unnecessary, for the jester composed himself quickly **.**

“What shall we think of next, I wonder?” he mused. “More rope, perhaps? A gag? Nothing too loud or we’ll have a crowd…”

The problem was quickly solved. Cicero let go of Shade’s chin and yanked her nightgown’s wide collar lower before he stood up to retrieve the lit candle from the table **.** The faint glow of its flame danced on the jester’s face when he picked it up and returned to Shade. He stepped behind her and lowered himself on one knee. She held her breath when she felt his calf rubbing against hers.

“I am not the one to blame if vampires have a weakness to flame”, the Imperial rhymed, swept Shade’s hair neatly behind her back, and covered her mouth with his free hand.

From the corner of her right eye, she saw the candle’s flame flickering beside her head.

“What will it do? Let’s see”, Cicero murmured with excitement before he began to pour melted wax on her revealed skin, following the line of her nightgown’s collar.

The Dunmer was inclined to squirm when she felt its hot sting, but instead, she closed her eyes and sighed against the Keeper’s palm. Knowing that the wax alone wouldn’t be enough to draw a strong reaction, Cicero tilted the candle and brought it closer to Shade. Vampires had a known weakness to fire, and he exploited it. The Dunmer’s eyes flew wide open when she felt the candle’s flame moving across her upper chest, but she didn’t move or whimper **.** That gave her tormentor an idea.

“No sound? Nothing? Well then, perhaps Cicero should put in some… effort, hmm?”

 

And as the jester had intended all along, he made his victim scream.

 

The candle was suddenly pressed roughly against Shade’s right shoulder, and it _hurt_ **.** She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out, but her voice was muffled by Cicero’s palm. When the candle was lifted, it revealed a red burn mark which glowed like an ember.

“He he, I have done good, haven’t I?” Cicero rejoiced. “I hurt the Listener. ”

Shade agreed with a cumbersome nod, breathing rapidly due to the pain **.**

“Good. Cicero is _glad_. ”

The jester lifted his hand off the Dunmer’s mouth and placed the candle down on the floor **.** Maybe he had had something else in mind, but instead of proceeding, he stilled **.** Shade’s mind was still a bit foggy **,** but she could almost feel the Keeper’s gaze that was fixed on her. His hands soon appeared on her shoulders and grazed her smooth skin.

“Cicero must thank the Listener”, the Imperial whispered as he pressed his right cheek against her temple. “I haven’t felt this alive in a long time. Pain is _soooo_ beautiful.”

His hands moved as he spoke, and they eventually reached the sticky line of wax just above Shade’s breasts. Overwhelmed with sudden anticipation, she waited, but nothing happened. Cicero hesitated. 

“Keeper?” the Dunmer’s hoarse whisper broke the prolonged silence **.**

“Eh… he he he he… Oh, um… It’s been a long time since Cicero touched anyone so… alive. Our Matron’s skin is dry and rough. The Listener feels… different.”

“It’s alright”, Shade spoke intermittently. “I’m at your mercy. You can do _anything_.”

When the hands moved an inch downwards, she hoped that her words had been enough, but she was soon proved wrong. Cicero’s warm touch disappeared, and he moved to work on her bindings instead.

“I have served the Listener well, I hope.”

“Cicero…”

“It’s best that the Listener leaves. Cicero has… duties.”

 

No words were spoken after that, and when the rope finally dropped onto the floor, the Dunmer rose to her feet. Her legs were numb, and she nearly lost her balance, but she didn’t tarry longer than she had to. She couldn’t help feeling disappointed despite everything that had happened. A tiny, nagging voice inside her head kept telling her that she had just ruined something.  

 

Had this… little play of theirs been a mistake?


	11. Bound until death

Whiterun had been good to the assassin. She had travelled there in search of a Bosmer hunter named Anoriath, but she had also encountered the travelling Khajiit caravan she had been searching for near the local stables. She had surprised the hunter in the plains outside the city and savoured his blood as a well-earned meal. The Khajiit, on the other hand… He had stayed close to his comrades and wiping off the whole caravan would have been foolish as they usually bought items other merchants weren’t willing to buy. Luckily, that little detail had been easily solved with a challenge. Shade had lured Ma'randru-jo away from the camp by calling him a house cat, and he had answered her slander with raised fists. He had been a fool to think that his claws would help him, though, for vampire’s claws were sharper. Whereas he had merely scratched his adversary’s cheek, Shade had slashed his throat open, leaving him to bleed to death. There was now one less caravaner in Skyrim, and no-one would probably notice – well, no-one except the Khajiit.

 

As for the assassin, she already had another target on sight: the Argonian scavenger residing near the wreck of Hela’s Folly. She would deal with him first and then leave for Solitude immediately.

 

It would be extremely rude to be late for a wedding, after all.

 

***

 

Beautiful shades of gold and red spread across the sky, and the sun was about to hide beyond the horizon. Solitude basked in the warmth of its last rays. The wedding reception was held on the courtyard of the Temple of the Divines. The mead was flowing in a traditional Nord way, and the people were merry. There were no guards except for the ones the Emperor had personally provided to protect his cousin. They weren’t doing a very good job, to be honest, as they only guarded the lower entrances, and they had sorely failed to notice the uninvited guest hiding in the shadows on the battlement **.**

Soon the happy day would turn sour.

 

Before leaving the Sanctuary, Shade had done something she hadn’t done during her time with her new Family: she had asked for advice. The wedding was a big event, and there was a high chance of being detected as well as getting one’s skin pierced by arrows. As Shade wasn’t inclined to spend the rest of the day with plucking those out of her flesh, she had planned how she would perform the act **.** Babette had suggested that she could use the gargoyle sitting above the balcony where the bride would address the crowd. Gabriella, on the other hand, had revealed that she had hidden a bow on one of the parapets, just in case. The bow would be an easy way to dispose of the bride, of course, but the chance to stage an accident brought back memories. When she had still been a mere initiate, Shade had been tasked to drop a mounted minotaur head on an old Wood Elf to make it look like there was no-one to blame but an unfortunate coincidence and worn fastenings. This time there would just be a bit more… weight involved.

 

As the evening darkened, the time for Vittoria’s speech was finally at hand. The sound of the opening door alerted the assassin who had stayed dutifully in hiding. She didn’t need to peek down for she saw the couple’s auras clearly.

_The groom on the right, and the bride on the…_ she smirked to herself.

“Good people of Solitude”, Vittoria began festively. “I just wanted to take this time to thank you all for being here. To thank you for sharing this wonderfully happy day with myself, and my new husband.”

_Sure you did. Anything else? No? Very well, then…_

                      The gargoyle was already loose, and a push was all that was required for it to topple. The grinning statue fell onto the balcony with a loud crash, crushing the poor bride under its weight.

“ _Vittoria_! _**No**_ **!** ” the groom cried out in shock **.**

The guests began to murmur, and the guards rushed into the temple to reach the balcony. The assassin lowered herself flat against the stones to avoid detection, and with silence as her friend, she crawled towards the ledge which would provide her with an open way to the Sea of Ghosts. It was time to leave the distraught groom to grieve with the guests. Maybe tales would be told about one of the saddest weddings in Solitude’s history. If so, Shade would like to hear them. Now, it was time for her to return home where… never mind. The reward waiting for her would be hefty, no doubt of that, and it would be a shame if it remained uncollected for too long, wouldn’t it?

 

***

 

The Sanctuary was filled with the malevolent laughter of its mistress. The news of Vittoria’s death had pleased her greatly, and for the first time, she looked at Shade with gratitude, even pride.

“And now the blushing bride is celebrating her fresh marriage in the Void”, she smiled triumphantly. “Well done!”

“I’m proud to serve, mistress”, Shade didn’t slip from the formality she had kept up since arriving at the Sanctuary for the first time.

“With Vici’s murder, you’ve started us down a path the Dark Brotherhood hasn’t travelled in centuries. The assassination of an Emperor. And now, your well-earned reward. A unique spell to summon a legend of the Dark Brotherhood. His soul serves us now in death, as his body once did in life.”

                      An odd feeling enshrouded the Dunmer. It felt like a wisp had just descended on her shoulder, but there was something indescribably strange to it **.**

A feeling of familiarity **.** A strange illusion of loving warmth.

Shade frowned, and she barely heard what Astrid said to her. A large pouch of gold was placed on the table before her, but she didn’t take it right away. When the Sanctuary’s leader spoke again **,** and there still wasn’t any reaction to her words, she began to grow annoyed.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asked indignantly.

“I’m sorry, mistress”, the Dunmer shook her head as if awakened from a trance. “You spoke about my next contract…?”

“ _Yes, I **did**_. Go speak with Gabriella. She’ll tell you the details. Are we clear?”

“Y-yes, mistress…” Shade stammered before her eyes flew wide with realization.

_My nightshade_ , she heard a voice that turned her mind blank **.** _It gladdens my soul to see you again._

Astrid, nor anyone for the matter, had never seen a vampire so shaken before. With her pale lips shivering, Shade cocked her head and stared into nothingness. Words got stuck in her throat at first, but after a minute of silence, she finally spoke – barely audibly.

 

” _My Speaker_.”


	12. My frozen blood

Those Family members who witnessed their sister’s flight could only speculate what had scared her so. Shade ran through the Sanctuary’s main hall and ascended the stairs leading to the Night Mother’s chamber only to find it empty. She could have stopped to demand an explanation for the cruel trick played on her, but that possibility didn’t even cross her mind. Her instincts drove her towards the only place where she could hope to find some comfort in. When she reached the worn weapon rack placed in a familiar, short corridor **,** she slowed her pace and let her shoulders slump **.** She noticed Cicero sitting at the table, writing something in a book. It didn’t matter how their last meeting had ended **—** she needed him.  

“Listener?” the jester asked in surprise and set the book and quill aside.

He watched how the Dunmer drifted towards his bed and sat on its edge, burying her face in her hands. It took a while before confusion allowed him to rise from his chair **.**

“Listener?” he walked closer to her, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

No answer.

                      The Keeper, usually so colourful and overflowing with glee, waited yet another moment in silence. When nothing happened, he moved to sit on the bed beside Shade. He waited, staying dutifully still, and his patience was finally rewarded. It began with a silent giggle which soon grew louder and more maniacal. 

“I’m going mad, Cicero”, Shade said after her laughter receded a little. “I hear a voice inside my head.”

“Surely the Listener is jesting”, the Imperial wondered. “Of course she hears the Mother’s voice.”

“No. No, no, no… If only it was her. I hear _him_.”

“’Him’? The Dread Father? But that’s… unusual.”

“No”, the Dunmer’s voice quavered. “I hear him. My former Speaker. Lucien. My, my…”

It was too much, all too much.

 

The Dunmer trembled when she lifted her head and tried to straighten herself. She glanced at Cicero, her eyes brimmed with bloody tears. Horizontal wrinkles formed on his forehead when surprise crossed his face.

“ _Help_ _me_ ”, Shade whispered wearily **.**

“Poor Listener”, the jester expressed his pity and reached out to pull her against his right shoulder.  “Cicero is here for you.”

He buried his cheek into her charcoal hair, and the comfort it brought soothed her chaotic mind.

_To surrender yourself to his embrace so easily… Am I nothing to you anymore?_   Shade wasn’t sure whether she really heard Lucien’s voice, or was her mind trying to expose her guilt.

Be that as it may, it didn’t affect her this time because there, in madness’ arms, she felt safe **.** When Cicero tightened his hold on her, banishing her horrors, lassitude was finally free to overwhelm her. She didn’t even notice when her consciousness began to slip to the brink where the waking world ended… and dreams began.

 

***

 

The mist was thick like an unyielding grey wall. Shade couldn’t even see the ground, but she felt it. She tried to use her senses to scout her surroundings, but they didn’t seem to work **–** something was wrong.

_Is this… a dream?_

The Dunmer’s gaze wandered around until she saw someone emerge from amidst the mist.

“ _You_ ”, she whispered when Lucien appeared before her **.**

He looked just as she remembered him.

“My deadly nightshade”, his deep voice pierced her, leaving an illusion of a warm shiver in its wake.

“My beloved Speaker”, the Dunmer took a step closer to him, ready to hug him, to kiss him, but instead, she found herself kneeling and bowing her head.

“’Beloved’? I found that hard to believe.”

“But it’s true! If I’ve done something to make you doubt that, then please, tell me!”

“You fled”, the Imperial stood now right in front of her. “You ran into the arms of another. The fool is the one who held you, not me.”

“But I – I…” Shade was about to argue, but she fell silent all of a sudden.

_I… am attracted to… him?_

Realising that each of those little words was true, she bowed her head even lower, ashamed. She had thought to chase only after pleasure and comfort, and yet...

“Don’t try to deny it”, Lucien growled **.** “There are no lies in the Void.”

“’The Void’? Am I…?”

“No, you’re not, nightshade, but I am.”

“I know that all too well, Speaker”, crystal clear tears ran over the light-grey cheeks. “I was too late to save you. There are no sufficient words to describe my shame and sorrow.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to hide it all.”

Shade tried to lift her gaze, but something prevented her.

“You lie about your name, sweet Listener”, the Speaker’s voice was softer this time. “How can you pretend to be someone you aren’t?”

“They don’t need to know.”

“Who are you?” Lucien asked.

“Shade.”   

“Your true name, assassin. Say it.”

“I… can’t.”  

“ _Who are you?”_ the question echoed in the darkening mist.

The Dunmer fought to look up, and when she finally managed to do so **,** she saw how her Speaker’s face faded away.

 

“Satheri”, her cry disappeared into the whirls of the Void. “My name is _Satheri_!”

 

***

 

The Dunmer’s chest heaved rapidly. She had woken up abruptly, and she felt as if she had been drugged **.** She was sitting on a bed, she realised that much, but she had to blink several times before she distinguished the features of the jester who sat on its other end. Cicero was leaning back against the wall with his left leg drawn up **.** There was a curious smirk on his face.

“The Listener is a rather loud sleeper”, he stated.

The Dunmer furrowed.

“Did I… speak?” she asked gingerly.

“Oh, you did, you did”, the jester lifted his back slightly off the cold stone. “Satheri.”

_Oh._

 

The dark elf stared at the Keeper with her vampiric eyes gleaming in the chandelier’s light, unsure what to feel. She had lied to everyone, yes, but to him, she had only been “the night creature” or “the Listener”. Now that he had said her name, her _true_ name, she felt as if she had just… blushed. It wasn’t possible for a vampire to do so, of course, but the feeling remained. Shade, now revealed as Satheri, rose onto her knees without detaching her gaze from the Imperial **.**

“Have you been here the whole time?” she tilted her head, astounded.

“Why yes”, the jester confirmed. “Cicero promised to be here for you.”

“Yes… yes, you did”, a smile rippled on Satheri’s pale lips while she crawled closer to him, eventually wrapping her arms around his neck. “Thank you, sweet Cicero.”

This time he didn’t hesitate.  

“Should you ever need me”, his voice vibrated against her right shoulder as he returned her embrace, “just ask.”

“No titles?” she wondered because he hadn’t addressed her as “the Listener” yet.

“The Listener is a fine title, fine indeed, but I prefer her _beauuuuutiful_ name.”

Satheri couldn’t help giggling a little. She lifted her chin to press a light kiss on the jester’s cheek.

“That’s sweet” _,_ she whispered, and he chuckled in contentment **.**

 

_Truly sweet_. 


	13. Tell us who you are

Two assassins slipped into the pleasant shadows of the corridor. Their footsteps were muffled, and they didn’t speak, and yet something echoed around them like a beautiful, eerie song from the Void. It was something neither of them had experienced in a long time, and thus they didn’t dare to name it aloud. Like a secret, it carried them to the door of the Night Mother’s chamber where they had to part ways. The Keeper had duties to perform, and so did Satheri who began to search for Gabriella as Astrid had instructed her to do before the little… incident. She should also speak with Nazir about the three contracts she had completed. While descending the stairs by the pond, the Dunmer caught a question lurking amidst the sweet bliss that filled her mind **.** Why hadn’t Lucien spoken to her after she had woken up? Perhaps he was furious, or he just chose to be silent. The possibility of him being angry with her didn’t make her feel bad about herself. She couldn’t quite explain it. Was this what the Night Mother had meant last time she had spoken to her?

_Have faith, child. The nightmares will pass._

Not that Satheri would want to forget everything, it was just that…

                      The moment the Dunmer entered the Sanctuary’s little alchemy room, she lost her train of thought **.** She had been too distracted to sense the presence of the three assassins whose curious stares pierced her awareness like well-aimed arrows.

“Ah, there you are”, Gabriella noted. “Took you long enough.”

“Sorry about that”, Satheri replied casually. “I was… delayed.”

“Like going mental and running straight to the open arms of insanity?”

“Manners, girl”, Festus reminded his sister. “Mister Cicero is the Keeper, after all.”

“I meant no disrespect, of course. He’s just a little too… exuberant for my liking.”

“Well, we all have our flaws. Speaking of which, I think our sister here has something to tell us **,** hasn’t she?”

Satheri frowned, leant against the wall, and crossed her arms across her chest.

_Well, I guess hiding doesn’t make it any better,_ she told herself and glanced at the wizard. “What do you want to know?”

“How about telling us why you ran in the first place?”

“I’d like to hear that too”, Babette voiced her opinion. “Astrid said you looked terrified.”

“Right before whispering the words ‘my Speaker’”, Gabriella added.

_I can’t blame them from being curious, I suppose_ ¸ Satheri wondered and shifted uneasily.

“It seems that I’m now bonded with the soul of my former Speaker”, she expressed her frustration. “Our Dread Father has a twisted sense of humour.”

“Bah, don’t dally like that”, Festus scolded her as if she had been a youngster compared to him. “Tell us whom did you serve?” 

Satheri sighed before her answer brought the conversation to a momentary standstill.

 

“Lucien Lachance.”

 

The silence was nearly palpable. It reeked of disbelief and astonishment with a hint of reverence hidden somewhere between them. 

“What?” the elderly assassin was the first to speak, sounding genuinely impressed. “Really?”

“Yes”, Satheri confirmed, tilting her head slightly to the right.  

“But that means you really _are_ the Listener”, Gabriella marvelled.

“You don’t say”, the wizard jeered.

“I do adore your sarcasm, Festus, but there’s no need for it this time. You know the story, don’t you? Lucien Lachance was falsely accused and executed as a traitor, and his protégé became the new Listener. Her name was…”

“Satheri Dresra”, the other Dunmer finished her sister’s sentence and lowered her gaze in reminiscence.

She hadn’t used that name after she had left Cheydinhal Sanctuary for good. It was terrifying to use it again. “Shade” had been a safe name, generic, untraceable. “Satheri”, on the other hand…

“The Dark Brotherhood would have benefited greatly from being guided by a Listener like you. Why did you disappear?” Babette’s question tugged the Dunmer’s heartstrings.

_…it means traitor._   

With an apologizing smile on her face, Satheri glanced at the other vampire.

“Even the best of us aren’t of any use if they’re broken”, her voice was weary and small.

Though her answer had been a bit cryptic, the truth wasn’t so easily hidden.

“You loved him”, Gabriella perceived **.** “You loved your Speaker.”

                      With her secrets out in the open, Satheri averted her gaze.

_Am I really this pathetic?_ she asked herself _. Can’t I handle the truth when it’s spoken out loud, or am I just afraid to speak to **him**? _

There was only one way to answer her question, but first, she had to confront those staring at her **,** silently demanding answers – judging.

“Wow. No wonder you’re having so bad nightmares”, Babette noted, referring to the events of Applewatch.

“What nightmares?” Gabriella asked.

“Vampires have them after their transformation”, the Breton explained. “Hers have been… postponed for some reason.”

“Oh.”

“This is rubbish”, the wizard declared. “I’ve been in love too. I was even married once. I killed my own wife, and it doesn’t bother me a bit.”

“Ugh”, Gabriella huffed. “Very subtle, Festus.”

_“Enough_!” Satheri growled suddenly **.**

She wasn’t planning on analysing the most terrible events of her life with others without speaking to the one whom they concerned as much as her. The three assassins looked at her, surprised by her sudden show of authority.

“I came here because there’s a contract waiting for me, and supposedly one of you can tell me the details”, the Dunmer said strictly. “Right, Gabriella?”

“Yes – yes, that’s true.”

“Good. Now, if you’d be so kind… Tell me all you know.”

 

_This conversation is done – for now._

***

 

The Night Mother’s coffin was open. Satheri peeked into the chamber like a shy initiate who deemed herself unworthy of seeing the Matron’s remains. She had met her spirit once, of course, but to actually _see_ her... It was, and she had never thought to use that word should the occasion occur, humbling. The mummified skin glistened in candlelight because it had been recently oiled. The Keeper had performed his task dutifully and with care, and speaking of him… The Dunmer turned her attention to the Imperial who entered the room. He held a bouquet of fresh nightshades in his hands.

“Our Lady is delighted to see her Listener”, incoming smile made the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Is she truly?” Satheri glanced at the Night Mother’s earthly remains when she finally entered the chamber properly.

“He he he, but of course! She wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise”, the jester lowered his voice. “And… Cicero is glad to see you too.”

Those words made the Dunmer smile in turn.

“About that, I’m more delighted of.”

“So, once again, you came to meet… me? Not the Mother?”

“I did”, Satheri said softly and walked closer to the Keeper. “I realised that I owe you an apology for barging into your room last night.”

“But it was of no trouble, no trouble at all!” Cicero assured her.

“Still, you were a darling to take care of me like that.”

“You were so sad. Sad, sad! Cicero couldn’t bear to see you cry. Nor would have borne a bear, a real bear!”  

The Dunmer hid her smirk behind her left hand.

“My dear jester”, laughter vibrated in her voice when she caught the Keeper’s face gently between her palms, “you truly are unlike others, in many ways.”

Cicero’s eyes had a gemlike gleam in them.                         

“The Mother’s flowers will get crushed”, he hid a jest behind his worrying words.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to say a proper goodbye before I leave again.”

The Dunmer reached to press her lips on the Imperial’s. She sensed their warmth, and their touch was exhilarating. When they reluctantly parted from each other, Satheri let her hands slip down Cicero’s jawline.

“I’ll come to say hello as soon as I return”, she promised.

“Cicero would like that very much”, he replied, his voice unusually even.

Satheri smiled and glanced at the strand of his ginger hair with which she briefly played before taking a short step away from him.

“Farewell, Cicero.”  

“Farewell, lovely night creature. Farewell.”


	14. The ghost of her love

The forest was filled with shadows cast by the setting sun. A lone bird sang in a nearby tree, and a fox emerged from hiding to hunt. After dealing with the old Nord woman in Fort Greymoor, Satheri had chosen a secluded place near one of the main roads to wait for Gaius Maro’s arrival. According to the schedule she had stolen from his post at Dragon’s Bridge, he should have arrived in Whiterun hours ago **.** He was late. She had been waiting for him since the earliest hours of the morning, and everything she had seen on the road so far was several hares **,** a group of priests, and a lone merchant. Hopefully, the commander’s son wouldn’t be too much delayed because sitting around without even leaving to hunt would be… murder. There was something the assassin could do instead of just silently lying in wait for her prey, of course. She had unconsciously avoided that possibility until now. She knew she couldn’t postpone her much-needed talk with Lucien indefinitely lest the nightmares would return. She wanted to appease her guilty conscience.  

 

She wanted to be… free.

 

The Dunmer waited for a moment, but she didn’t sense anyone nearby.

 _Perhaps it is time_ ¸ she thought, cupped her hands and raised them slowly.

A blue essence began to glow on them.

“Beloved”, Satheri whispered mournfully and placed a gentle kiss on her palms before she blew the essence off them, sending it flying into the air as dust.

As an eerie figure appeared before her eyes, she tried to keep herself as calm as possible. She was tired of being afraid of her past.

“Satheri”, Lucien’s voice was his own without any strange echo to it. “What a delight you are to these dead eyes, my nightshade.”

Thin, bloody circles surrounded the Dunmer’s eyes **.**

“Lucien”, his name dropped from her lips like a spell.

The spectral assassin kneeled in front of her, and his blank gaze delved into her very soul.

“What’s bothering you?” he placed his right hand under her chin. “Tell me.”

_His touch… How can it still feel the same?_

“Anguish”, Satheri replied strictly. “Yearning. Guilt.”

“Didn’t I tell you when you slept that there are no such things – only your denial.”

The vampire’s red eyes widened a little.

“It… it was really you?”

“I wanted to see you”, a smile formed a bright line on Lucien’s face, “and you needed my help.”

“’Help’, beloved?”

“Indeed. There was a struggle within you that needed to be solved in order for you to be happy.”

“Happy without you”, Satheri remarked bitterly. “I couldn’t save you from the Black Hand. _Forgive me_.”

“Sweet nightshade”, the Speaker wrapped her in his ghostly embrace, “our Father has joined us through the powers of the Void. You carry me with you wherever you go, but that’s not enough. You need someone to hold you like I once did.”

 _Cicero_ , the Keeper’s name crossed the Dunmer’s thoughts before she expressed her perplexity. “But you said…”

“You’ve always been a complex little creature, beloved. One who needs a firmer hand than others.”

                      The assassin’s hideout grew quiet again. Something that had been buried long ago by torment now unravelled within Satheri’s mind like a flower, one petal at a time. After living over two hundred years, believing she had been responsible for her Speaker’s fate, it wasn’t exactly a surprise that some truths were left hidden. And yet… The horrifying memories rose to the Dunmer’s mind yet again, but this time, she had someone to turn to – someone who knew the truth.

“After I arrived in Skyrim, I started having nightmares about the night I found you inside the farmhouse”, she confessed.

“My beautiful, wounded devotee”, Lucien’s deep voice softened, “it was already too late. The Black Hand was waiting for me when I got there.”

“And they paid for it”, the Dunmer hissed with pain feeding her anger. “Arquen nearly got away, but I made sure she felt every last bit of what they did to you. The traitor had it easy, the other Speakers had it easy… But not her, _not her.”_

”I know. Her soul whimpers at the feet of Sithis **.** You did well, assassin.”

“Thank you, Speaker **.** _I live to serve you._ ”

“The words you speak are but a remnant of a time long past”, Lucien reminded his love. “You may have served as my Silencer, but now, you are so much more.  You are the Listener. The Dark Brotherhood needs _you_.”

“I know.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

Satheri thought about the answer for a while before she gingerly freed herself from her Speaker’s hold **.**  

“Because”, she frowned on the brink of understanding, “you’re the only remaining link to the time when I still was a mortal.”

                      The realization left Satheri dumbstruck. How could a vampire so desperately cling to her past life? After the confusion faded, however, her mind turned as clear as a windless sea basking in the cold light of the two moons.

 _What Babette said…_ the Dunmer glanced aside pensively.

“I wished that I had died **.** With you”, she said. “To witness your death over and over again was pure agony, but when the nightmares… languished, it turned the agony into fear, a fear of losing you completely – forgetting you. To volitionally keep torturing myself like that… Oh, how _stubborn_ I’ve been!”

“One day, you’ll be the most sublime soul of the Void, beloved”, Lucien grazed her right cheek with his knuckles. ”But have no fear. Your heart won’t turn callous.”

And there it was, her true fear: to change from what she had once been to an emotionless husk **.**

“How could have I been so blind?” Satheri asked herself as she reached for the ghostly hand touching her skin. “I can still be elated. I can laugh. Even if I cry no normal tears, I feel sorrow. My feelings for you haven’t vanished, and I have… new ones. For Cicero.”

“Then let go of doubt, lovely murderess. Embrace the dark path ahead of you. Let it shroud you. Be who you were meant to be, who you already are.”

Satheri’s senses awoke as if supporting Lucien’s words of encouragement.

“The soldier”, she said as she rose to her feet, staring towards the road.

“Another soul to collect”, the spectral Imperial mused as he followed her example. “Shall we?”

The vampiric Dunmer grinned wickedly.

“Do you even need to ask?”

 

***

 

“Murder”, the guard stared the spectral killer with his mouth agape in disbelief. “There’s been a murd…!”    

The Nord’s cry turned into gurgle before it was heard. With a satisfied grin on her face, the assassin licked the blood off her dagger’s blade. Gaius Maro was dead. No-one had been there to witness the moment when Lucien had plunged his dagger into the Imperial’s guts. Well, no-one except for his escort whose throat had just been slit open. Soon someone would find them and then the whole city and Skyrim would know about their deaths – as would Commander Maro. Speaking of whom **…** Satheri pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket. It was a letter that would falsely incriminate the commander’s son in a plot to kill the Emperor.

“Planting false evidence, destroying an innocent man’s reputation – truly a contract to suit you, beloved”, Lucien marvelled.

A wicked grin crossed the Dunmer’s lips when she crouched beside Gaius’ body to hide the letter under his left bracer.

“Our work here is done”, she stated when torchlight began to shimmer near the top of the market’s stairs. “Let’s leave before the guards arrive.”

“Such a shame”, the Speaker mused with a hint of mischief in his voice. “Practice does make perfect.”


	15. Ill tidings

The assassin returned to the woods of Falkreath after yet another successful mission, but the welcome she received was something she hadn’t expected. Instead of meeting Astrid, she was greeted by Gabriella.

“Ah, at last”, the other Dunmer sounded earnest. “I’ve been anxiously awaiting your return.”

“Gaius Maro is dead”, Satheri reported though she couldn’t help getting the feeling that something was amiss.

“Yes, I know. As does Astrid. You have done well, and have earned both your reward, and a bonus, as I may have mentioned. However, you should know that we have a more pressing matter to deal with.”

“What happened?”

“It’s… Cicero. There’s been an incident.” 

The vampiric Dunmer frowned, hiding her sudden worry.

“What did he do?” she asked in a grave tone.

“Proceed into the Sanctuary”, Gabriella instructed her. “I’ll let Astrid explain.”

 

Anger. Worry. Haste.

 

Satheri took her fellow assassin’s advice. If Astrid had decided to “solve” her little jester problem, she’d be sorry for that – _very sorry._ Even if she was ready to rip the Nord’s throat should the worst have happened, the Dunmer knew she had to remain impassive **.** It was highly likely that Babette and Arnbjorn were present, and if she barged in with anger roiling about her, it could ruin everything. It was challenging for her to remain calm because the scent of blood filled her nostrils when she entered the Sanctuary’s main hall. Instead of finding Cicero, however, Satheri ran into Astrid, Babette, Nazir, and Festus with Veezara sitting in front of them on the floor, bleeding.

“Just try to relax, Veezara. Let the elixir do its work. You’ll feel better, shortly”, the Family’s alchemist reassured her wounded brother.

“Achh… Thank you, dear. You are most kind”, the Argonian paused to groan again. “The jester’s cut feels as bad as it looks, I’m afraid.”

_So, there’s been a fight… But where is Cicero?_

“Damn it, this never should have happened!” Astrid cursed. “We knew better. We knew better, and still we let our guards down. _Agh_!”

“I’ll admit, even I’m having a hard time disagreeing with you…” Festus conceded **.**

 

“Disagreeing in what?”

 

While Veezara tried to prevent anything from slipping out of the deep, nasty wound on his side, others glanced at the Dunmer who had just made her presence known to them. Well, at least to others beside Babette anyway. Satheri walked briskly towards them, observing her surroundings imperceptibly **.**

_There’s much blood, but it’s all Veezara’s. Then… he got away?_

“Finally, you’re here”, the Sanctuary’s mistress’ huff interrupted her ponderings. “And don’t you dare to demand your payment for Maro’s death. We’ve got bigger problems right now!”

“Ah. Cicero.”

“Yes, _Cicero_! The fool went absolutely berserk! He wounded Veezara, tried to kill me, and then he fled. I knew that lunatic couldn’t be trusted.”

_Thank the Void_ , Satheri fought back a relieved sigh and glanced expressionlessly at Veezara.

Interpreting her silence as surprise, which it partly was, Festus spoke out.

“It’s true, I’m afraid”, he confirmed. “Cicero was a little whirlwind, slashing this way and that. It would have been funny, if he weren’t trying to murder us all.”

“Don’t forget the ranting and raving”, Nazir added. “About the Night Mother, how she was the true leader of the Dark Brotherhood, and Astrid was just a ‘pretender’.”

_Which she **is**_ **,** Satheri muttered to herself, and her eyes narrowed.

“I assume you’ll want to hunt him down”, she noted and crossed her arms across her chest.

“I want _you_ to hunt him down and end his wretched life”, Astrid hissed. “I know you’ve spoken with him on several occasions. He’ll never suspect you.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate him, mistress. He may be mad, but he’s no fool – if you allow the irony.”

“The only thing I consider him to be is _dead_. But first… find my husband. Make sure he’s all right. After the attack, Arnbjorn flew into a rage. When Cicero left… Arnbjorn went after him. They disappeared into the wild.”

_So, the big, bad wolf isn’t here… poor ‘mistress’._

“Don’t worry”, Satheri lifted her chin. “I’ll find him.”

“I expect no less. Go, search Cicero’s room. Maybe there’s something in there that sheds some light on where he might have gone. Let me know the minute you find something. I’ve got to see to Veezara, and calm everyone down.”

The Dunmer nodded and turned to leave. The sooner she found out where Cicero was heading, the sooner she would find him and Arnbjorn.

“Bested by a fool? Who’s the fool now, hmm?” she heard Veezara’s words when she began to ascend the stairs leading to the living quarters.

_Who’s the fool indeed, dear brother,_ she thought darkly. _That question will be answered in due time, I assure you…_

 

***

 

All the candles had burnt out **,** but the lack of lighting mattered little for a vampire. Satheri walked around the room, searching for clues. She had already found a book, an old journal written by Cicero and one of many, it seemed. His writing implied how he had assumed his current personality. Before he had become the Keeper, he had been allowed one last contract: a jester whose laughter had been, well, catching. Another journal revealed how an assassin, a Family member like any other, had slowly descended into madness.

_Loneliness_ , Satheri’s hand wandered along the table after lowering the journal back on it. _That’s something I… What’s this?_

There was a folded piece of paper lying beneath a dry loaf of bread. It could have easily been a simple note, but it turned out to be so much more.

_“Innocence of Dawnstar”… Another Sanctuary?_

_Ah yes,_ Satheri heard Lucien’s voice. _An old Sanctuary, one of those that have been abandoned. It lies by the sea, north from the city itself._

She smiled a little even if it wasn’t needed to express her gratitude.

_Thank you, Speaker._

After hiding the paper into one of the bags she carried on her belt, the Listener was ready to leave, but first, as ordered, she reported back to Astrid. The Nord found the jester’s likely destination a bit strange, but she didn’t procrastinate. To hasten the Dunmer’s journey, she provided her with a mount, unknowingly uniting her with an old friend **:** Shadowmere **.** The steed was black as the deepest heart of night, and he had carried her on more than one occasion.

 

And when Satheri rose to the saddle, she had only one destination in her mind.

“Be swift, my friend”, she whispered in the horse’s ear. “This time we won’t be late.”

 

_Not this time._


	16. The cure for madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

Dry hinges creaked when the old, worn door was slowly opened. The assassin standing in the doorway was unusually nervous. Upon arriving at the Dawnstar Sanctuary, Satheri had found Arnbjorn outside, unable to continue to pursue Cicero. He had been badly hurt, but he had bragged about how he had surely managed to deal equal damage to his prey **.** That had made the Dunmer worried. While the lycanthropic assassin had stayed at the shore to lick his wounds before returning home, she had proceeded towards the jester’s hiding place, remaining as calm as possible **.** After entering the abandoned Sanctuary, haste had taken control of her. She had heard Cicero’s cumbersome voice and smelled his blood. Worry had bested her reason and senses. The Sanctuary’s guardians had recognized her as the Listener, so on their behalf, Satheri had had no trouble. After exploring the chilly, shrouded corridors and evading several traps, a trail of blood had led her to the door she had just opened. The memory of Applewatch woke fear inside her, making her skin crawl, but there was no need to be afraid because Cicero was still alive.

 

Wasn’t he?

The room appeared to have served as a torture chamber. There were rusty shackles on the wall with yellowed bones scattered below them. The uneven floor was partially covered by moss. The room was warm, thanks to the fire burning in a cauldron at the back of the room **.** Near that cauldron lied also the runaway Keeper. Satheri sensed his heartbeat which brought her relief. It sounded like he was alright. Perhaps he had taken a healing potion, or he hadn’t been so badly hurt in the first place. Be that as it may, all that mattered was that he wasn’t dancing on the brink of death.

“Her beauty is equalled only by her capability”, the jester mused without rising up from the floor. “ _I like that,_ he he…”

“I aim to please”, Satheri lowered her hood while she walked towards him. “You could have told me about the troll, though.”

“Oh, after subjecting the guardians to your will and evading all the little surprises on the way, a troll was of no trouble to you, I’m sure.”

_I wouldn’t say that_ ¸ the Dunmer though when she felt a twinge on her right collarbone which had gotten mauled by the beast.

“But let’s get to the point, shall we?” Cicero continued. “That shrew, Astrid **,** sent you to finish what her stupid wolf couldn’t, didn’t she? You’re here to kill me.”

“I’m here, sweet jester, but not to do Astrid’s bidding. I’m here because I was worried about you.” 

“Worried? About me? Truly? He he he he he he… That’s, ahem, sweet.”

                      By the time the Imperial finished his sentence, the Dunmer had walked across the room. When she stood now right in front of him, he turned to lie flat on his back, but he still abstained from looking at her. Carefully, she kneeled and crawled over him with her braided hair hanging on the right side of her head. The scent of blood intensified when Satheri spotted the healing wound on Cicero’s right side. His shirt was torn, and the skin around the scarring tissue was stained red. Gingerly, she lowered herself closer to lick the blood off.

“Ooh, that tickles!” Cicero giggled. “Do you intend to drink me dry, hmm?”

The vampire’s eyes flashed with shades of orange and red as she thwarted her thirst and let it transform into a thirst of another kind. She crawled up the Imperial’s taut body to meet his brown gaze.

“I’m afraid that there is only one cure for your madness, my darling jester”, she said huskily as she took off his hat, revealing his hair for her to play with. “Me.”

“Ooh, I like that. Creative, very creative”, Cicero lifted himself off the ground with the support of his forearms. “Much more… intriguing.”

His face was close to hers, and he tried to reach her, but she brought her left index finger in front of his mouth to stop him.

“You want me?” she dared him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Then fight me.”

 

And after staying completely still for a moment, he did.

 

With an unexpected display of strength, the jester pushed the Dunmer off him, pinning her between his body and the dusty floor. She gasped, thrilled by the sudden change in the situation.

“I must admit, I wasn’t sure how this little encounter of ours would end, to be revealed as a foe or friend”, Cicero rhymed. “Should the former be true, I’d have to… stab you.”

Satheri gazed at him in silence while his serious charade crumbled before the laughter.

“I almost got you, didn’t I?” he chuckled mischievously.

The Dunmer admired the curve his lips formed above her. Unpredictability was one of the features she liked about him along with the danger that accompanied it, but admiration should wait. She had challenged him, hadn’t she? Thus, the Dunmer braced herself and tried to sit up, but she was denied. The Imperial pressed his right forearm on her throat and forced her back down.

“Tsk”, he smirked. “Naughty, naughty.“

Satheri grimaced, baring her fangs in faked dismay. The jester lowered his face even closer to hers and stared at her in challenge.

“Hmm, isn’t she feisty? What would it take for her to yield, I wonder…?”

                      The mischievous smile widened before the ardour hiding behind it was unleashed. Cicero’s pouty lips engaged those of Satheri’s in a rough duel. There was no hesitation in him. Perhaps he had suffered from blood loss which had befuddled his mind and removed all inhibition that might have existed. However, judging by the greed with which he devoured her lips, Satheri guessed that he had hoped for this, and she was more than happy to agree. But first… The jester moved to lick her jawline to reach her left ear which he then bit. That was when the Dunmer caught him unaware **.** As fast as a vampire can move, she curled her legs tightly around Cicero’s waist, causing him to bite deeper than he had intended.

“Oomph!” he grunted from the pressure, raising his face above hers. “So, you want to fight dirty? That can be arranged…”

The Imperial increased the pressure on the Dunmer’s throat while he tore off his left glove with his teeth. Then, nimbly, he brought his hand between their bodies. Buckles clinked when he opened her belts, letting them drop onto the floor. Their absence didn’t loosen her armour much, but it was enough for Cicero to be able to slip his hand beneath its upper part **.** His fingers travelled across her skin like a spider until they reached a tighter spot between the leather and soft fabric **.** They backed down a little, but only enough for them to wander under her breastband.      

“Mmm, I remember these”, he smiled viciously. “Soft, round, a pleasure to be found. But what happens if I do… this?”

                      The Dunmer’s mind hazed when a jolt coursed through her body **.** The jester’s grip was firm around her left nipple. He began to gradually twist it until pleasure got mixed with sweet, increasing pain. Satheri stared at Cicero, keeping herself from gasping **.** No-one had touched her like this since the last day Lucien had held her in his arms, and excitement coursed through her. When the twist intensified yet again, she had to bite her lower lip **.**

“Mm-hmm”, Cicero hummed when she saw the change in her expression. “Just ‘twisting’, isn’t it? The feeling? But she fights back. So admirable. But don’t you worry, lovely deathbringer, the Fool of Hearts always has a trick or two up in his sleeve.”

Satheri felt how her bottom got lifted off the ground when the Imperial moved so that it rested between his knees. He brought his hips as close to hers as possible, and what she felt through the fabric and leather between them awakened another quiescent memory within her: the feeling of fulfilment.

_Mindplay?_ Satheri wondered while her self-control began to slip as she revelled in the newly-found memory. _That’s not going… to…_

The jester noticed her brief moment of indiscretion. He released her sensitive nipple and brushed it with his thumb as if to experiment with her body. The hold of Satheri’s legs around him loosened as they quivered, but she didn’t let go. Cicero exploited the flaw in her defence in a surprising way. He lifted his forearm off her throat, freed his left hand from beneath her armour, and backed away, leaving her lying on the floor while he sat on his knees. He did nothing except for observing her reaction, and she fell right into his little trap. With an intense orange shade spreading in her eyes, the Dunmer grimaced and pushed herself off the ground to throw herself at his tormentor. She didn’t manage to tip him off his balance, however, for his position was steady, and he was prepared. Reacting swiftly, the jester folded his arms tightly around Satheri and smiled widely.  

“Impatience, always making things too easy...”

                      The buckles of the dropped belts stung Satheri’s back when Cicero drew her with him onto the floor. They rolled to the right like a couple of wrestling sabre cats until they hit the wall. The Dunmer found herself caught between the Imperial and stone once again. She was deliberately throwing herself at his mercy when she didn’t prevent him from moving his hands. His left hand sought her throat, lifting her chin, while he removed his right glove before sneakily moving his hand to open the leather strings of her greaves. She didn’t loosen her hold around his waist, but she allowed him to open every string. When the way was open, so to speak, he repeated the little trick of his, although this time, his hand wandered down the Dunmer’s body.

“Hmm”, Cicero brought his lips close to her ear as his fingers disappeared below her underpants. “What’ll will we find here?”

Satheri flinched, and she tried to arch her back involuntarily. The intensity of the jester’s slight touch on her nub was incomprehensible. Maybe time was to blame for her being undone so ridiculously easily, or it had something to do with vampirism because blood rushed through her veins like never before. Cicero rubbed Satheri’s nub in a circular motion, but he let his fingers wander over her opening from time to time. She couldn’t hide her arousal anymore, so she decided to surrender. She raised her left leg and sought support from the wall to keep it up. An intoxicating feeling took over her body, and she saw the self-satisfied smile on Cicero’s face before she closed her eyes. Her folds were burning.

“I yield”, her words came out as a moan.

“So easily?” the jester lamented. “Hmm… Should Cicero be merciful?”

His fingers stopped moving as he considered the Dunmer’s plea. She breathed quickly, waiting for his decision.

“Perhaps, just this once, there needn’t be pain to treasure, and pleasure should be allowed to be just… pleasure?”

“Yes, handsome, sweet Keeper. _Yes.”_

The jester pretended to think about the matter, but the signs of his own arousal had already betrayed him, too. He moved his left hand to grab her chin and waited until she opened her eyes and looked at him.  

“As the Listener requests.”

 

The last strings and buckles were opened. Most of the clothing and armour that were in the way were moved aside, some of them even if they weren’t. Satheri leant against the stone wall, waiting anxiously to feel what it was like to have a lover again. Her leather greaves had been lowered below her knees along with her underpants, and her upper body was bare up to the height of her collarbones. She held her breath in torturing silence while Cicero crawled closer to her. His shirt and collar had been thrown aside, and he started to lower his unlaced trousers **.** Satheri felt how the former touch of rugged cloth was replaced by velvety grazes.

“Cicero never forgot the scent of your hair nor the softness of your pale skin. Oh no”, the jester told her as he positioned the tip of his member on her opening. “I’m sure this… experience will be something to remember fondly, won’t it?”

“ _It will be_ ”, the Dunmer breathed when the burn inside her turned more fervent.

Cicero began to chuckle, and the voice came closer to her as he pushed himself into her, slowly.

“Really?” he wondered. “I find it hard to take your word on it when I can find out myself…”

                      The jester moved. There was no humility in the way he curled his right arm around the Dunmer’s lean form to draw her against his chest while his hips worked to bring their bodies against one another again and again. Passion enslaved Satheri’s mind with every move she felt. Her gaze was lit by a sanguine glow, and her lips were parted. The way Cicero’s member filled her turned her mind blank of all else **.** A drop of sweat trickled down the jester’s forehead when he moved his right hand upwards to grab her left breast firmly **.** The Dunmer’s biceps flexed, and her arms began to quiver. Cicero’s left hand appeared next to her head when he sought support from the wall.

“ _Satheri_ _”,_ he said her name, his voice vibrating.

The only response she was able to give him was a moan. The sound of her pleasure spurred the Imperial to fasten his pace, and it wasn’t long until he came undone. His breathing turned intermittent before he let out a loudening grunt and stopped moving. Satheri savoured the sounds of his climax in her mind as well as the sensation of feeling him inside her, and her senses intensified them to the point where she began to shake **.** Orgasm broke free from the core of her pleasure and made her folds pulse. They both panted, Cicero more heavily than her. He tilted his head backwards as he withdrew his member from her. Satheri smiled contently when she brought her knees together and curled up against the wall. Her lover lifted his underpants back up before he crawled to her **,** pressing his bare chest against her back and burying his left cheek in her hair.

“Cicero?” the Dunmer called softly.

“Hm hm?”

“You’re a fool after my own heart, you know that?”

“Now that I hear you say that, I know for sure. But is that what you want? I can’t abandon my duties. I’ll always be the Keeper.”

“Oh, my twisted darling”, Satheri chuckled. “You are the Keeper, and I’m the Listener who is tied to her former Speaker. We both have our duties, our ties, but perhaps we could find out if there was something just for the two of us?”

“Mh-hmm”, the jester hummed with satisfaction **,** tilting his head so that his lips were closer to her ear. “How could a poor fool like me say no to a deadly beauty like you?”

The curve of his smile drew a line on Satheri’s hair while his right arm curled around her chest just below her breasts.

“I must take my leave soon, or Astrid will get suspicious”, she didn’t hide her disappointment because she hoped to be able to stay in her lover’s arms longer than it was possible right now.

“The harlot may claim your time”, the jester’s voice faded into a whisper as he spoke **.** “But just for a moment more, be mine.”


	17. Fatal delicacies

The Sanctuary felt empty. The Family was there, the Night Mother was there—but not Cicero. When Satheri reached the small entry hall, she found Astrid placing markers on a map. The Nord’s gaze lingered on Markarth’s emblem before she glanced at the comer.  
“My husband’s safe. You have earned my gratitude, sister”, she said expressionlessly before adding in a colder tone. “But what of the fool? Please, tell me Cicero is dead.”  
“He is, mistress”, the Dunmer lied. “Strangled with his own, stinky intestines.”  
A good suggestion, lover, she hid her smile beneath a vicious smirk. Colourful.  
“Excellent”, Astrid was seemingly satisfied with her answer. “Once again, you’ve proven to be an assassin of remarkable skill. I hope you weren’t too… attached to him.”  
The vampire’s gaze obscured much, and the suggestive try to reveal her possible dishonesty failed.  
“Our numbers are scarce and assaulting another member of the Family in such times is unforgivable, even for the Keeper.”  
“A very practical attitude. I can respect that. Tell you what, what if you hold onto Shadowmere a while longer? He’s a fine steed and hasn’t been ridden nearly as much as he should lately.”  
“It would be an honour”, the Dunmer nodded with gratitude far greater than the Nord could guess.  
“Now that this Cicero mess has been mopped up, we can get back to the matter at hand, hmm?” the latter continued. “There’s just one more target before we strike out at the Emperor. Have you by chance heard of the “Gourmet”?”  
“Can’t say I have.”  
“The Gourmet is a chef, scheduled to cook for the Emperor at a special dinner. You’ll kill him, steal his Writ of Passage, and assume the role of the master chef. Festus has been spearheading this part of the assassination plan. He’s close to uncovering the identity of the Gourmet. You should report to him.”  
“Of course, mistress”, the Dunmer replied while telling herself not to appear too extravagantly humble. “Before I go, may I make a request?”  
“Hmm?” Astrid’s eyebrows curved. “What is it?”  
“As the jester isn’t going to need his room anymore, might I have it?”  
“Why on the Nirn would you want that?”  
The vampire gave a dark laugh.  
“Just a little quirk I used to have”, her explanation wasn’t entirely a lie. “I used to sleep in my victims’ beds when I was but an initiate. It’s nostalgic.”  
“Huh”, the Sanctuary’s leader weighed her request. “Well, nobody doesn’t probably want it anyway. But if I tell you to sleep elsewhere, you do it. Do I make myself clear?”  
“Clear as a crystal, mistress. Thank you.”

***

Four assassins sat around the large table, drinking. When a fifth one entered the dining hall, her presence didn’t go unnoticed for long.  
“Sister”, Gabriella was the first to greet her. “Come sit with us. We’re drinking to forget the unfortunate incident.”  
“Speaking of which”, the old wizard’s’ gaze followed Satheri who pulled out the free chair next to him. “Took your sweet time dealing with Cicero, hmph?”  
“I’m sorry if I forgot to bring you a finger as a souvenir, Festus”, she grinned. “Scraping out one’s intestines is a messy business as it is.”  
“Well, I for one hope that you killed the jester twice to make sure he stays dead”, Arnbjorn raised his mug in respect. “Listener or not, you’ve proven yourself time and again, to us all.”  
“Praise? Coming from you?” Nazir couldn’t believe his ears.  
“What’s the problem, red hood? Perhaps you should accept more contracts yourself instead of dealing them to others. Then you might be worth praising.”  
“Quiet you two!” Festus snapped. “Youngsters, always about the bickering…”  
“Bah!” Arnbjorn growled. “Go do some magic tricks on the street, wizard. Maybe someone will give you applauds.”  
“Hmph.”  
                      The way Arnbjorn and Festus hurled insults at one another made Satheri raise an eyebrow. The Family’s dysfunctionality seemed to surface every time its members tried to converse. Sure, they laughed together, worked together… but there always seemed to be something hidden behind those scenes. Disrespect. Disdain. Disagreement. How could the Dark Brotherhood rise again when it was marked with such flaws? When building grudge silenced the two brothers, Satheri took advantage of it.  
“So, Festus”, she leant against the table with her elbows, “Astrid said you might have something to tell me about the Gourmet. Any luck?”  
“Hmm? Oh yes, yes… The chef”, the elderly assassin glanced at her. “I haven’t been able to find out his identity, or hers. Could be a woman for all we know.”  
“So, there are no clues at all?”  
“Wrong assumption. In my, um, investigations, I came upon a signed copy of the Gourmet’s cookbook. It seems to contain a message from the chef to one Anton Virane in Markarth. It would seem he’s the keep’s cook.”  
“Well then”, the vampire smirked to herself, “I guess I have to pay a visit to good mister Virane.”  
“That you do. Just don’t leave him alive to tell the tale. Oh, and once you find the Gourmet, hide his body when you’re done. Loose ends and all that.”  
“Oh, Festus”, Gabriella sighed. “She’s the Listener. She doesn’t need advice on how to do the job.”  
“That arrogance will one day be your doom, pup”, Festus huffed.  
“Perhaps you’re right. I feel my death coming soon, so I try to make the most of the time I have left before I join our Dread Father in the Void.”

Gabriella’s words made Satheri’s skin crawl ominously. She had a distant feeling that there was a gloomy prediction hidden in them, and she felt that Lucien sensed it too. Was the Dark Brotherhood being threatened, and if so, by whom? Astrid? Doubt tried to whisper names into the Dunmer’s ear, but she refused to listen. It would be dangerous to let herself to be so easily trifled with. The matter should be looked into, of course, but for now, Satheri guided her attention back to her siblings’ conversation. Maybe she could do some extra jobs for Nazir on her way to Markarth?

Well, it was always worth asking.

***

Before leaving the Sanctuary on the hunt for the mysterious chef, Satheri decided to rest. Not that she was tired, but she wanted to curl on the furs of the bed formerly used by Cicero. They still carried his scent, and she could almost feel his arms around her.  
“Cicero promised to be here for you”, his words rose to her mind and made her smile. Daylight seeped in from the crack in the ceiling, but it wasn’t close enough to touch her. The candles had nearly melted before burning out. Cicero’s journals were still where Satheri had left them. She should make sure that they didn’t contain any information that would open the way into the Dawnstar Sanctuary for others. The guardians and other traps were waiting for anyone who would venture there, but still… Satheri wasn’t willing to put her lover in danger.  
They shan’t come after you, sweet Keeper, she vowed and hugged the pillow tightly.  
She closed her eyes when the familiar scent drew the image of the jester in her mind.  
I hope we meet again soon, the Dunmer thought and began to drift off to sleep.

I miss your laughter.

***

The smell of rabbit stew surrounded the cooking pit. The Breton wearing a chef’s hat glared indignantly at the Dunmer who had dared to disturb him.  
“Yes, yes, for the hundredth time, I am a Breton”, he said abruptly. “I was born in High Rock. And then I came here. I am not a Reachman!”  
“Oh, I didn’t claim you were one, mister Virane”, Satheri leant carefreely against the nearby wall with a peculiar smile on her lips.  
“Then who are you? What do you want?”  
“Now that you ask, I’ve got a little question for you. My question pertains to your friend known as the Gourmet. I’d like to know who he really is.”  
“The… the Gourmet?” the Breton quavered. “Never! I don’t know what led you here, but nothing will betray my trust. I’ll take the secret of the Gourmet’s identity to my grave.  
So you say…  
“You seem like a reasonable person, Anton, and I hate to waste talent when I see it”, Satheri’s voice was husky and appealing. “But if a grave is what you want, the Dark Brotherhood can easily arrange you one…”  
“The Dark Brotherhood? Now… now wait a minute. Let’s not get hasty. I mean, surely my friend wouldn’t want me to endanger my own life. Right?”  
“You’re right, without a doubt. Now, who is the Gourmet and where can I find him?”  
The chef glanced over his shoulder before he stopped stirring the stew and stepped closer to the charcoal haired assassin.  
“His name is Balagog gro-Nolob. He’s an Orc!” he hissed hastily. “The Gourmet’s an Orc! He’s staying at the Nightgate Inn in the Pale. That’s all I know, I swear! And now… now you’ll let me go. Right?”  
The Dunmer’s smile widened as she reached for the Breton’s pale cheek with her right hand.  
“Of course, Anton”, her tone was soft and soothing. “Thank you for your information.”

The assassin left, allowing the chef to get back to cooking the court’s supper although his shaking hands made it a little difficult. Despite the fear, however, the man had no idea what was waiting for him after nightfall. That was when the assassin would return, and the monster inside her would be satisfied for another day.

After that, the Gourmet would have little time to cook his last meal before his miserable soul would join Sithis’ table of horrors in the Void.


End file.
